WSG-1: Fall of the Twelve Colonies
by Kelso323
Summary: As the Cylons unleash their genocidal strike upon the Twelve Colonies of Kobol, a ragtag fugitive fleet assembled around the last known operational Battlestar, the Galactica, and began their journey to shepherd the stunned survivors under their protection. But they were not alone. Against bleak odds, other small groups of survivors survivors race to escape nuclear holocaust.
1. Part 0 - Prologue

**First Cylon War  
****4571st Day of Combat  
****Battlestar _Pacifica  
_****Orbital Patrol of Libran Colony**

"_Action Stations, Action Stations; set Condition One throughout the ship; this is not a drill. Action Stations, Action Stations; set Condition One throughout the ship; this is not a drill. Section heads report to Combat upon manning of Action Stations_."

Commander Adrian Kelso had barely finished fastening his belt buckle when he rounded the last corner en route to the Combat Information Center. Glancing up, he deftly sidestepped around a crewman rushing the opposite direction as the Marine posted outside the CIC hatch spun the locking latch and opened it for the approaching Commander.

Pausing a moment to give the Marine a quick pat on the shoulder, Kelso stepped into CIC, glanced around at the myriad of crewmembers rushing about, and quickly made his way towards the center plot table beneath the descending DRADIS displays.

"Sitrep!" he barked as he stepped up to the main plot table.

"We just lost contact with Raptors Two-Three-Eight and Two-Four-One," replied his XO, Colonel Danielle Cole as she stepped down from the upper gallery and settled in opposite of him at the main plot table. "No distress call, no reports; they just went silent."

"All decks, all stations report Condition One; Action Stations manned and ready, Commander," called his Tactical Operations Officer, Lieutenant Theo Cullen. "Primary and defensive batteries have deployed and are standing by."

"Very well," replied Kelso simply as he looked back over to his XO. "Flight deck status?"

"Port and Starboard flights pods are both ready for flight-ops," answered Colonel Cole as she met his gaze. "CAG reports all birds manned and ready for launch."

"Abuhda's on the ball today," muttered Kelso approvingly as he turned his attention to the DRADIS display overhead. "So there was nothing to indicate a problem before our birds went silent?"

"Nothing, sir," replied Cole, shaking her head slightly.

Letting out a long, pensive sigh, Kelso attempted to steady himself against the adrenaline coursing through his system. Losing wireless contact with a Raptor didn't necessarily mean there was a problem, could just be a comm issue, but the odds of having two of their pickets lose comms at the same time was…

Suddenly, the DRADIS panel overhead let out a shrill alarm.

"Contact!" snapped Lieutenant Cullen. "DRADIS contact times two, Commander, based on signatures, two probable Cylon Baseships, CBDR at four-six-nine carom three-eight-four and two-nine-nine carom three-eight-four."

Instantly, Kelso's eyes focused in on the two icons that had appeared on the screens.

"Safe bet they're the reason we lost contact with our birds," muttered Kelso as he watched the two Cylon Baseships close in. "Our pickets must have been ambushed by their recon element."

"They haven't launched their Raiders yet, but they're plowing in at a good clip," sighed Colonel Cole as she gently adjusted her thin-rimmed glasses. "They'll be in firing position in less than five minutes."

"They've set themselves in good positions, too," noted Kelso as he gently shifted his weight from one leg to the other. "They'll have us bracketed for a cross fire from both fore and aft."

"We need to break orbit, get some room to maneuver," offered Cole as she leaned forward a bit over the plot table.

His eyes still locked on the DRADIS, Kelso mulled over his options.

The _Pacifica_ was currently holding a high patrol orbit over Libran colony. The Baseships had spread themselves out in order to pin the lone Battlestar in orbit, robbing her of the ability to maneuver for a counterattack.

"Two against one, our best chance would be if we could isolate and engage them one at a time," muttered Kelso as he continued to watch the two Baseships stalking in.

"Trouble is, they know it," grimaced Cole. "They've deployed themselves far enough fore and astern of us that we won't be able to maneuver to the outside of either one."

"At least, not before we're within range of their weapons," muttered Kelso, his tone somewhat resigned.

"Our only other choice is to go right up the fraking middle," sighed Cole, gently shaking her head.

"That's a bad position for us to try and fight from, Dani," replied Kelso, reverting to his XO's informal nickname as he began absently drumming his fingers on the plot table. "They'll be able to hit us from both sides."

"No possibility of reinforcement?" asked Cole as she looked across the table to him.

Casting his XO a rather cynical glance, Kelso gently shook his head.

The constant flow of intelligence reports pouring in from Picon Fleet Headquarters over the last month left little doubt that the Colonial military, the fleet itself in particular, was spread perilously thin throughout Colonial territory, grappling nearly tooth and nail attempting to beat back the latest Cylon offensive.

Earlier in the week, three Battlestars had been tasked to Operation _Raptor Talon_, a reconnaissance-in-force mission, ostensibly hunting down some critical Cylon weapons research facility deep inside enemy-held space.

Another three full Battlestar Groups were inextricably involved with operations to dislodge a group of Cylon Basestars blockading Tauron colony. Having forced their way into orbit nearly eight weeks ago, the Cylons had landed a significant ground force which was wreaking utter havoc on both military and civilian areas alike. Worse still, reports trickling out indicated that in addition to truly staggering number of civilian casualties, the scattered and beleaguered Marine and army contingents were being overwhelmed and were nearing collapse.

Near Sagitarron, two more Battlestar Groups were providing support to another campaign to dislodge a significant contingent of Cylon Centurions besieging one of the fleet's major ground-based Forward Operating Bases and supply depots in the Hera province.

Near Virgon and Leonis colonies, several smaller fleet units were contending with a vicious series of hit-and-run skirmishes with several dozen Cylon Raider squadrons attacking some of the vital merchant shipping lines in that region.

Additional Battlestars deployed on station near Aerilon and Canceron were, at last report, caught in a decidedly unnerving game of hide-and-seek with as many as four Basestar contingents operating out of the cover of the Aerolus asteroid belt. While direct engagements thus far had been limited minor skirmishes at best, the fact that they were the only fleet units available in the theater to counter this threat meant they could not be redeployed elsewhere.

But for all the chaos being wrought by these engagements, to the higher-ups they were mere brush fires by comparison to the action taking place near Picon, home of the unified Colonial Fleet headquarters.

The fleet's remaining Battlestar Groups, including the flagship _Atlantia_ as well as _Pacifica_'s own detached escort element were fending off what amounted to a particularly vicious frontal assault by the Cylons. With near-fanatical fervor, the Cylons had thrown themselves upon the Colonial fleet units in orbit in a series of relentless massed-wave attacks, a brutal battle of attrition that was doubtless a precursor to landing yet another ground force on Picon itself, a critical threat aimed at the very heart of the unified command and control apparatus of all Colonial defenses.

No, there would be no reinforcement; for better or worse, the _Pacifica_ was going to have to wage this fight all on her own.

Looking back up at the DRADIS, Commander Adrian Kelso took in a deep, steadying breath.

"Well," he sighed, scratching the hint of stubble on his chin, his tone more than a touch resigned. "Waiting isn't going to make this any easier, Dani."

With that, Kelso looked across the plot table to his XO.

"Let's get this dance started, Colonel."

"Aye, sir," replied Cole, the slightest hint of a predatory grin creeping across her lips. "Helm, execute turn a-Port, zero-nine-zero degrees, take us parallel to the enemy's overall approach axis; engines all ahead full."

"Coming around, zero-nine-zero to Port, aye," replied the helmsman, Crewman McCall, as his fingers gripped the ship's attitude controls. "Now answering zero-nine-zero."

"Engines answering all ahead full, sir," continued Crewman Barris as she pushed on the mighty ship's throttles.

"Mister Cullen," snapped Kelso as his eyes focused back in on the DRADIS screens overhead. "Ready all main batteries for salvo fire. Order main batteries to prepare two-to-one ratio HE to Armor Piercing."

"Aye, sir."

As his eyes continued to follow the two icons on the DRADIS, Kelso felt the slight shift of the deck beneath him, the subtle vibration of the powerful engines ramping up output as the massive Battlestar _Pacifica_ began her headlong turn towards the closing enemy ships.

"Capshaw?"

"Sir?"

"Dispatch a wireless communiqué to the nearest courier Raptor, message is to be delivered to Admiral Sedora aboard _Atlantia_, advise her of our situation, include a request for reinforcement," called Kelso, glancing over at his XO just in time to catch her somewhat sardonic grimace.

He could only shrug.

"Doesn't hurt to ask," muttered Kelso simply as he glanced at his wristwatch. "In any event, it'll be thirty-three minutes before our message reaches the courier Raptor for delivery to the Admiral. No matter how we look at it, we're on our own for the time being."

"Yes, sir," sighed Cole with the slightest nod.

"We have broken orbit, Commander, now zero-nine-zero from original course," called Crewman McCall.

"All engines report ahead full, sir," continued Crewman Barris, biting her lip slightly, her expression plainly anxious.

"Gun commanders report main batteries deployed and ready to commence fire on your order, Commander," called Lieutenant Cullen as the ship completed its turn. "Designate targets Echo-Bravo-One-Zero-Zero-One to fore-Port and Echo-Bravo-One-Zero-Zero-Two to fore-Starboard."

"They're slowing their approach," noted Colonel Cole as she glanced up at the DRADIS.

"They probably didn't expect us to try and thread the needle between them," replied Kelso coolly.

"They still haven't launched their Raiders," continued Cole, reaching up to brush aside an errant lock of hair.

"Now that _is_ odd," muttered Kelso, shaking his head slightly. "You'd think they'd be coming in full force, fangs out."

"Should we launch Vipers?"

"No, not yet," replied Kelso evenly. "Right now the odds are two against one; let's give our gun crews a wide field of fire, see if they can hurt the bastards before we throw our own birds into the mix."

"Understood," replied Cole simply.

Overhead on the DRADIS, Kelso watched as the _Pacifica_ continued to plow ahead on a path directly between the two Cylon Baseships.

"Enemy ships are entering our engagement zone, Commander," stated Lieutenant Cullen, the tension evident in his voice.

"Helm, long axis rotation, down fifteen degrees to Port, slow to one-half," said Kelso, his eyes never leaving the DRADIS screen.

"Answering fifteen degrees down to Port, Commander," replied McCall.

"Engines now at one-half," interjected Barris a moment later.

"Mister Cullen, order all dorsal batteries to engage Echo-Bravo-One-Zero-Zero-One, ventral batteries to engage Echo-Bravo-One-Zero-Zero-Two. Advise Combat when they have a firing solution."

"Aye, Commander," replied Cullen as he snatched up the handset on his console and began relaying the orders.

As he waited, Kelso again began absently drumming his fingers on the plot table.

"All batteries have a firing solution, reporting ready for action, Commander," called Cullen a moment later.

At that, Kelso's drumming stopped.

"Commence full salvo fire, all dorsal and ventral batteries, execute."

"Aye, sir."

Immediately, the dull thuds of the ship's main guns firing began reverberating through the air, deep, rhythmic thumps; the heartbeat of a warship engaged in battle.

"Registering multiple impacts on both targets, Commander," called Cullen a moment later, his voice elevated a bit with excitement.

"All batteries, maintain rate of fire," replied Kelso evenly. "And get me a preliminary damage assessment."

"Combat assessments coming in now, Commander," called Lieutenant Cullen as the sound of _Pacifica_'s guns continued to resonate around them. "Indications of moderate damage to primary hull sections and peripheral defensive emplacements."

"If we've got them zeroed, no point continuing to nibble around the edges, Lieutenant," called Kelso as he continued to eye the display overhead. "Have gunnery crews shift fire, target the center axis of each Baseship, try and break their backs."

"Aye, sir," replied Lieutenant Cullen.

The sound of _Pacifica_'s guns continued to pulse through the ship as she continued cut a path between the two Baseships. Unbelievably, in spite of the damage they were absorbing from _Pacifica_'s continued cannonade, the two Cylon Baseships continued to push through the withering fire laid down by the lone Battlestar without firing so much as a single missile in return.

"What the hell are they up to?" muttered Cole, her tone plainly suspicious as she leaned in a bit over the plot table. "We've landed dozens of hits on each Baseship and they still haven't so much as spit back at us."

As if in direct rebuttal to Cole's statement, target Echo-Bravo-One-Zero-Zero-One, the Cylon Baseship closing in off the _Pacifica_'s Port, immediately blossomed with nearly two dozen smaller signatures that began racing in towards the Battlestar.

"Missiles off the rails, inbound from multiple vectors!" called Lieutenant Cullen. "Negative for radiological…"

"Engage ECM!" snapped Commander Kelso as he watched the smaller contacts race in towards the _Pacifica_.

With that order, dozens of electric pulse generators located throughout the ship began radiating highly polarized energy fields around the ship designed to overload the guidance systems of the incoming missiles.

Some of the missiles, their guidance systems hopelessly, instantly fried, careened away aimlessly or drunkenly veered around the _Pacifica_.

Some of the missiles, but not all of them…

A few managed to keep coming in straight and true prompting Colonel Cole snatched up a handset from the side of the plot table.

"All hands, brace for contact!"

His hand firmly gripping onto the edge of the plot table, Kelso's unwavering gaze never left the DRADIS display as the entire vessel began to quake from a series of hard impacts.

"All stations reporting in, negligible damage, Commander," called Lieutenant Cullen as the ship slowly stopped shuddering.

"Looks like the new armor package did its job," muttered Cole as she made a cursory glance around the CIC.

"For now, maybe," replied Kelso simply as he watched another series of missile streak in, this time from both Cylon Baseships. "But I'm not keen on being the test subject on how much punishment it can really take. Mister Cullen?"

"Sir?"

"Point defense batteries, commence fire, sustained rate…" began Kelso, his voice momentarily cut off as the massive vessel shuddered under another series of impacts. "…establish a hard defensive perimeter at five-thousand meters."

"Aye, sir," replied Cullen.

It was then that a low alarm began emanating from the DRADIS overhead.

"Multiple new contacts, Commander," called Cullen. "Echo-Bravo-One-Zero-Zero-One is launching Raiders."

"Looks like about three squadrons," muttered Cole as she and Kelso kept a keen eye on the new icons appearing on the screen. "Rather conservative strike; why aren't they launching everything they have at us?"

"Tit-for-tat, gauging our response," replied Kelso evenly as he continued to watch DRADIS warily. "They're up to something."

With a slight huff, Kelso glanced over towards Lieutenant Cullen.

"Advise main batteries to maintain their fire on the Baseships. Have our Port-side defensive batteries shift fire; rake those incoming Raiders."

"Aye, sir."

With the Raiders spreading out their formations along _Pacifica_'s Port flank, the Battlestar's defensive emplacements began throwing up a veritable wall of armor-piercing shells that began biting into the approaching enemy fighters. As super-dense projectiles began tearing through ordnance loads and fuel cells, explosions began to shred apart the orderly enemy formations, the shrapnel from the erupting Raiders hurtling lethal rains of shrapnel into still more Raiders until the entire inbound formation suddenly heaved about in retreat.

"Raiders are disengaging, Commander," called Cullen as the DRADIS showed the few remaining Cylon fighters begin to withdraw.

For his part, Kelso shook his head slightly, his mood anything but elated.

Something just didn't feel right…

Almost as soon as the Raiders had turned back, both Basestars unleashed another volley of missiles that streaked in towards the _Pacifica_.

As before, a few were taken out by the defensive batteries, still more succumbed to ECM interference, nevertheless, a few still managed to slip through and slam directly into the thickened hide of the _Pacifica_.

Off to one side of the CIC, a low alarm began emanating from the Damage Control panel.

With a few swift strides, Lieutenant Cullen reached the panel as another crewman at the station handed him a handset.

"Multiple impacts reported amidships, Commander," called Lieutenant Cullen a moment later.

"Damage?"

"We've lost internal comms between frames two-four-zero and two-four-five, no reports on damage as yet, Commander," replied Cullen as another series of missiles slammed into the _Pacifica_.

As the _Pacifica_ shook off the jarring impacts, Kelso looked across the plot table to his XO.

"Dani," began Kelso, interrupted momentarily by yet another missile impact. "I want you to take charge of the DC teams."

"Aye, Commander," replied Cole simply as she stepped over and swapped places with Lieutenant Cullen at DC console.

As Lieutenant Cullen hurried back over to his station, Kelso looked back up at the DRADIS, eyeing the two closing Cylon Baseships hungrily.

"Where's my defensive fire, Lieutenant?" burst Kelso.

"Defensive batteries are working to reestablish the perimeter now, sir," replied Cullen as he dropped back into place at his station.

A moment later, the low drone of the smaller defense weapons resuming their fire supplemented the distinct thud of the main guns. The pounding impacts of the Cylon missiles also slowed, but did not cease, as the withering fire managed to fell some of the inbound missiles.

With the _Pacifica_ no longer suffering a continuous pounding, Kelso slowly exhaled.

"Time to even up the odds a bit," began Kelso as he watched the DRADIS intently. "Mister Cullen, have ventral batteries switch ammo package; one-to-one, HE to AP, and increase rate of fire; I want target Echo-Bravo-One-Zero-Zero-Two out of action."

"Aye, sir," replied Cullen.

Almost instantly, the sound of _Pacifica_'s guns firing increased in tempo as the ventral batteries began pumping more and more rounds into the Baseship off _Pacifica_'s starboard flank.

"Gun crews report Echo-Bravo-One-Zero-Zero-Two has sustained heavy damage, Commander," called Lieutenant Cullen, his tone elevating a bit. "DRADIS confirms target is beginning to break up."

At that same moment, Kelso watched as the DRADIS screen flared momentarily from the radiation distortion caused by the Cylon Baseship's own reactors detonating.

"Echo-Bravo-One-Zero-Zero-Two has been destroyed, Commander," called Cullen triumphantly.

Around the CIC, several crewmembers, mostly the less experienced ones, let out cheers as the icon of the destroyed Cylon Baseship disappeared from the DRADIS.

Kelso for his part was more reserved; even though one Baseship had been destroyed, the other wasted no time in launching another much heavier volley of missiles towards the _Pacifica_. Some veered away due to the _Pacifica_'s active ECM, a few more were cut down by the defense guns, but as always, some still got through and found their mark.

As the ship shuddered under the impacts, Kelso glanced over his shoulder at Colonel Cole as the DC panel lit up with numerous red indicator lights.

"Internal comms restored, fires reported amidships, Commander," she called as she too looked back over to Kelso. "Several compartments have been sealed and isolated, but the DC teams are having trouble getting a handle on them."

"Keep her together, XO," urged Kelso simply as he returned his attention to the DRADIS.

Formidable as it may be, the armored hull of a Battlestar encased what was little more than a veritable island of volatile fuel and munitions, even oxygen storage; the potential for catastrophe increased exponentially as fires neared any one of several dozen critical areas.

"Commander, change in aspect and ranging on Baseship to Port," called Lieutenant Cullen. "Looks like they've begun moving away."

"Verify," snapped Kelso simply.

"Confirmed, Commander," replied Cullen a moment later. "They've changed course and are pulling away."

"Helm, come around zero-nine-zero degrees a-Port, increase to flank speed," called Kelso as he watched the distance reading on the second Cylon Baseship continue to increase. "Keep them within our engagement range. Bow batteries are clear to engage as soon as they have a firm firing solution."

"Understood, sir."

"Sir, DC teams report fires amidships have been contained," called Colonel Cole.

"Very good," replied Kelso simply, his eyes never leaving the DRADIS.

"Bow batteries report they have a firing solution, but the Cylons are at the limit of effective range," called Lieutenant Cullen.

"Order them to hold fire until we're back to within optimum range," replied Kelso simply.

Then, with a practiced motion, Kelso snatched up the handset on his side of the plot board and toggled the switch over to buzz the engineering section.

"_Franklin, here_," barked the voice of _Pacifica_'s Chief Engineer over the handset.

"Mike, I need you to coax some more speed out of the engines," stated Kelso as he watched the Cylon Baseship continue to increase its distance.

"_I'll do what I can, but those fires amidships are dangerously close to the primary tylium transfer lines_," stated Franklin flatly, the sound of shouting crewmen echoing in the background. "_If the DC teams lose containment, we'll have to shunt the feeds or we'll lose the ship_."

"Cole's working the DC efforts, you just worry about getting me the speed I need," replied Kelso flatly as he hung up the handset.

His attention back on the DRADIS, Kelso watched as the _Pacifica_, now fully in pursuit, began to close the distance with the fleeing Cylon Baseship.

"Cullen, advise bow batteries to front load their first salvo with full load AP ordnance, I want to take them out fast once we're back in range," called Kelso as he glanced over at the Ops Officer.

"Understood, sir, we should have range again in thirty seconds."

As the seconds ticked away in his head, Kelso kept a keen eye on the Cylon Baseship.

As he watched the screen, he couldn't shake a nagging gut feeling, an undefined wariness which was gnawing away at the periphery of his consciousness; something just didn't _feel _right…

There was little doubt that the _Pacifica_ had managed to inflict some significant damage with her volleys, but even with one of their own Baseships destroyed, it was decidedly uncharacteristic for the Cylons to retreat from the field so quickly.

Hell, why would machines need to retreat at all, it's not as if they feared dying.

Moreover, if they _were_ retreating, why didn't they just jump away?

Impatient, wary, Kelso quickly glanced at the distance readings on DRADIS; they were quickly closing back in on the Baseship, but, they were also moving further and further away from Libran into open space.

It was at that moment that Kelso suddenly felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end; they were being lured.

"Helm, disengage pursuit course…" burst Kelso.

Too late.

Overhead, DRADIS practically screamed as three more Cylon signatures appeared.

"Oh, frak!" burst a crewman; Kelso had no idea who.

"Contact, three new contacts, Commander!" burst Lieutenant Cullen anxiously. "Cylon Baseships, now to aft, Port and Starboard!"

"And that makes four," growled Kelso under his breath to no one in particular.

In a literal flash, the Cylons had all but surrounded the lone Battlestar _Pacifica._

Then, all at once, all four Baseships let loose with a truly staggering volley of missiles.

Although the unceasing drone of the defensive emplacements letting loose with everything they had at a rapid rate reverberated through the air around CIC, the sheer number of missiles launched by the Cylons defied all hope that the _Pacifica_'s gun crews could fell enough of them to keep the coming moments from being anything but punishing.

As the first missiles slammed hard into the _Pacifica_, Kelso fought to maintain his grip on the main plot board, but soon lost it and was sent tumbling across the pitching deck.

Even as he fought to regain purchase and claw his way back to the plot table, Kelso kept his eyes locked on the flickering DRADIS display overhead.

"Helm, maintain course, increase to flank speed!" he shouted as he finally reached up, gripped the edge of the plot table for all he was worth, and hauled himself to his feet. "Push _through_ the enemy fire!"

"Aye, sir," replied Crewman McCall, his voice barely audible over the pounding impacts reverberating through the _Pacifica_'s hull, while beside him Crewman Barris was frantically fighting to keep herself in her station with one hand as she adjusted the _Pacifica_'s speed with the other.

As he stood gripping the plot table against the quaking deck, Kelso watched the flickering DRADIS screen as the distance between the _Pacifica_ and the Cylon Baseship directly ahead continued to shrink.

Bolstered by the arrival of the three additional Baseships, Echo-Bravo-One-Zero-Zero-One had actually reversed course once again and was now closing back in on _Pacifica_, quickening the pace at which the two wounded leviathans closed with one another.

Braving the trembling deck, Cole made her way back over to the plot board.

"We _can't_ stand toe-to-toe with four Basestars, Commander," she burst as another missile slammed into the _Pacifica_.

"No choice," grunted Kelso as he momentarily lost balance, his chest slamming down against the edge of the plot table.

Wincing at the burning pain, he nevertheless glanced over at his XO.

"Give me an update."

"DC teams are losing containment on the fires amidships," replied Cole flatly, pausing a moment to bark a few orders to the crewmen hunkered around the DC panel. "Heavy damage between frames one-zero-five and two-zero-seven. Engineering is also reporting damage to primary and auxiliary heat exchangers and reports of new fires near the primary magazines."

"We can't lose her now, Dani," replied Kelso adamantly, motioning his XO back towards Damage Control as he returned his attention to the four Baseships closing in.

Suddenly, all four Baseships blossomed with dozens of smaller signatures as the DRADIS let out another shrill alarm.

"Cylons are launching Raiders, Commander," called Lieutenant Cullen as he pulled a blood soaked hand away from his temple. "Full envelopment, multiple approach vectors."

Reaching down, Kelso again snatched up the handset and toggled the switch over to the One-MC.

"This is the Commander, launch all Vipers!" he said as more and more Raiders continued to spread out around the four Cylon Baseships. "All squadrons, clear for immediate launch, get our birds into the air!"

As he slammed the handset back in its place, Kelso watched as icons representing _Pacifica_'s own fighter complement began to appear on the DRADIS. They were experienced pilots, as good as any in the fleet, with many blooded veterans amongst their ranks, but they were outnumbered nearly five-to-one.

"Have the suppressive batteries extend the defense perimeter out to midway between our fighters and the approaching Raiders," called Kelso as he watched the Vipers spread out into their formations.

As the waves of approaching Raiders continued to close in, the _Pacifica_'s defense guns threw up a wall of shells that began tearing into the advancing Cylon fighters, covering the approach of the Vipers as they sortied to engage.

* * *

Major Kyle Abuhda, Call-sign 'Butter', Commander Air Group, Battlestar _Pacifica_, tensely flexed his gloved fingers around the control stick as the hailstorm of tracer shells fired from the _Pacifica_ raced past his formation and slammed headlong into the advancing wall of Raiders.

"_Gods, Butter, have you ever seen so many Raiders_?"

"Cut the chatter," snapped Abuhda simply. "Numbers don't matter; everybody keep on your wingman, watch each other's backs and don't stray into _Pacifica_'s firing solution."

With throttles wide open, the formation of Vipers quickly spread out to his left and right, rapidly closing the distance to engagement range with the approaching Raider force.

As he gingerly adjusted his Viper's flight path away from the hail of fire being laid down by _Pacifica_, Abuhda fought to swallow the hard lump in his throat.

Well into his fifth combat deployment, Abuhda was about as experienced as a Viper jock could get without being dead, had seen enough engagements to know the sea of Raiders spread out before them was going to exact a heavy toll on his people. Still, with several millions cubits worth of hurtling Viper strapped to his ass, he knew full well there was only one course of action they could take if any of them were going to survive.

"All Vipers, weapons free," called Abuhda as he nestled himself back into his seat. "Let's go to work."

With that, the line of Vipers opened up on the approaching Raiders.

With their own tracers and those of the enemy cutting neat lines against the blackness of space, the formations split off into groups of two, maneuvering wildly yet purposefully, the melee truly joined as the smaller, more maneuverable Colonial Vipers began tearing their way through the diminished yet still formidable legion of Raiders that had cut through the _Pacifica_'s defensive fire zone.

At once, the wireless band became awash with calls and cries, his pilots desperately maneuvering for some sliver of advantage against the staggering odds.

"_Rascal, on your six_…"

"_I've got four coming in at my nine o'clock_…"

"_Scratch two, Hustler_…"

"_Frak me, I can't shake him_…_ahhh_!"

"_This is Dojo, I need some help here_!"

His heart racing, Abuhda let off a burst that tore into a Raider, the Cylon fighter disappearing in a satisfying fireball even as nosed over to engage another pair of Raiders racing past his left side.

"_I've got two on my tail, frakers are on me like white on rice, someone give me a hand_…"

With a frustrated grunt, Abuhda pulled away from the pair of Raiders he was chasing, glanced down at his DRADIS, then glanced out past the myriad lines of tracers and spotted the pilot who'd called for help.

"Gimp this is Butter, I've got your six, but I need you to come right, help me engage."

"_Copy, Butter_," replied Gimp as the other pilot pulled his Viper around, forcing the two pursuing Raiders to pull directly in front of Abuhda.

Thumbing his trigger, Abuhda let off a burst that cut into one of the Raiders, sending it spiraling away wildly, trailing smoke before finally detonating.

But even as the first Raider vanished in a fireball, the second suddenly flipped about nose over end and fired off a burst at Abuhda. As the Cylon tracers stitched a path mere centimeters above the nose of his Viper, Abuhda grunted heavily as he threw his ship into a controlled roll to avoid the fire.

As he recovered, Abuhda shook off the slight disorientation, glanced about frantically, but had lost sight of the Raider.

"_Butter he's on your six_!"

Before he could react, two lines of enemy tracers streaked past his Viper from the rear. His heart skipping a beat, Abuhda instinctively yanked the nose of his Viper up and over, inverting the ship, dropping his sights dead on to the Raider.

Not even consciously aware that he'd thumbed the trigger, Abuhda watched his burst ripped into Cylon fighter's cockpit, tearing it to shreds, the craft's sudden death spiral ejecting one of the Centurions out into open space. As the tumbling chrome figure spun into his flight path, Abuhda slammed his throttles to maximum, his left wing dipping a bit, cleaving the flailing Centurion in two as the Viper shot past.

* * *

Another series of missiles slammed into the _Pacifica_ even as the beleaguered Battlestar continued to expend shell after shell into the fray. With four main targets, the heavy cannons were divided, scoring hits, but unable to truly mass their fire for a hard kill. The defensive cannons were still scoring hits as well, tearing through Raiders and incoming missiles alike, but the Cylons seemed nearly inexhaustible in numbers.

In quick succession, one, two, three missile impacts slammed into the port bow of _Pacifica_, shaking her and everyone aboard her to the bone.

As a cacophony of shouting crewman filled the air around CIC, Commander Adrian Kelso kept his attention firmly locked on the DRADIS, his mind focused on one inescapable truth; if _Pacifica_ died, so would every man, woman and child on Libran.

"My gods, my legs for a couple of fraking Gunstars right now," he muttered, his mind racing to find a solution. "Frak it!"

Taking a deep breath, Kelso knew he was either crazy or desperate, probably both, to consider what he was about to…

"Helm, continue full ahead," shouted Kelso, leveling a determined gaze upon McCall and Barris. "Bring us nose-to-nose with the nearest Basestar."

For all the trepidation in the eyes of the two young crewmen, neither flinched nor hesitated as they nodded in acknowledgement.

So it was that _Pacifica_ continued her headlong run directly towards Echo-Bravo-One-Zero-Zero-One, the same Basestar that had drawn them into this trap.

"Mister Cullen, advise Gunnery Control to reign in fire on the mains," continued Kelso as his gaze shifted to the harried Lieutenant. "Bow guns are to concentrate their fire at the rapid rate on Echo-Bravo-One-Zero-Zero-One, straight AP ordnance; put those mother-frakers on their knees."

"Aye, sir," replied Cullen as he absently wiped at a trickle of blood still making its way down his cheek.

"Commander, CAG reports our birds are nearing Red Status on ammo," called Capshaw as she fought to adjust her headset.

"Order Abuhda to break contact," replied Kelso as his attention returned to the DRADIS overhead. "Have our birds to pull into a point-defense position to our stern, follow us through our maneuver."

"Aye, sir," replied Capshaw as she braced herself against another impact.

"What's our speed, Barris?" snapped Kelso.

"Full ahead, flank-plus speed, Commander."

"Very good," replied Kelso simply.

For a few moments, Kelso simply watched the DRADIS expectantly, counting off the seconds in his mind as he watched the distance between _Pacifica_ and Echo-Bravo-One-Zero-Zero-One shrink rapidly. The other three Basestars and the surviving Raiders were racing to keep pace, but the hurtling Battlestar still managed to place precious distance between herself and her pursuers.

"Now, helm, fifteen degrees down at the bow," called Kelso as he braced himself against another missile impact. "Aim our nose for a point just below the near side edge of Echo-Bravo-One-Zero-Zero-One's lower hull; if those other Basestars want to keep hurling missiles at us, I want it to be at the risk of hitting their own ship."

"Understood, sir," replied McCall simply.

All the while, Kelso's eyes never left the DRADIS as Echo-Bravo-One-Zero-Zero-One drew closer and closer until the Basestar's signature and that of the _Pacifica_ had virtually merged into one.

* * *

Major Kyle Abuhda swallowed hard against the sizeable lump in his throat as he fought against the punishing G-forces. With his Viper's throttles to the firewall, he could feel his palms sweating inside his flight gloves as he fought to control his hurtling fighter as it chased after the racing _Pacifica_.

To make matters still worse, the Vipers that had managed to thus far survive the fray held relatively tight to one another as they likewise chased after the beleaguered carrier, all the while, the pilots risking tight turns and jinks to avoid not only the withering fire being laid down by sets of pursuing Cylon Raiders from the rear, but the equally lethal fire still erupting from _Pacifica_'s own defensive turrets.

But for all the concentration he was investing into keeping his remaining pilots and planes in order, as well as his keep own Viper on course, Abuhda was still all too aware of the imposing sight of the dual-disk hull of a Cylon Basestar looming ahead of the _Pacifica_ as she continued her headlong charge at the enemy.

* * *

Commander Kelso winced a bit as he gingerly tested his newly-sprained ankle's ability to support him. Nevertheless, his eyes never left the DRADIS as he watched the _Pacifica_ near point-blank range with Echo-Bravo-One-Zero-Zero-One. And while they'd managed to put some much needed distance between themselves and the other Cylon Baseships, so too had their own Vipers fallen behind.

Nevertheless, the _Pacifica_ was now exactly where Kelso had wanted her to be.

Straightening up a bit, ignoring the pain in his ankle, the Commander took a breath.

"Helm, execute hard roll along our z-axis, down to Port," burst Kelso as the _Pacifica_ prepared to pass below the Cylon Basestar.

"Aye, sir," replied Crewman McCall.

As ordered, the _Pacifica_ began to roll over to Port, her rotation quickly aligning her main dorsal guns for a perfect broadside directly into the underside of the Cylon Baseship.

As the main cannons began pumping round after round into the enemy at point-blank range, the projectiles landed with such force that most of the rounds tore clean through the lower section without detonating and slammed into the upper hull disc. Mortally wounded by the point-blank cannonade, power died instantly throughout the Cylon Basestar as the _Pacifica_ continued to sail past. As the now-smashed Cylon vessel was rocked by a myriad of secondary explosions across its hull, sections of debris were sent hurtling against the hull of the Battlestar, the impacts of which were almost as jarring as missile ordnance.

In spite of the tremendous damage, however, the bulk of the dead Basestar did not explode, instead becoming little more than a dead object in space.

And, as Commander Kelso instantly realized, it also became an opportunity…

"Helm, all-back full, bring us to a dead stop," burst Kelso as the _Pacifica_ began to sail past the mortally wounded Echo-Bravo-One-Zero-Zero-One.

"Sir?" muttered Barris weakly.

"I said all-back full!" snapped Kelso sharply.

"Aye, sir."

Just as quickly, he snatched up the handset from the side of the plot table and toggled the switch for the One-MC. "All hands, brace for extreme maneuvering."

'Extreme maneuvering' was an understatement.

At just over fourteen hundred meters in length, the _Pacifica_ was hardly designed to stop on a cubit. Even with all of the _Pacifica_'s thrusters firing at once, it took considerable energy to overcome the massive vessel's built-up inertia.

For the crew, the sudden deceleration was almost as harrowing as the Cylon assault itself. All around CIC, crewmen desperately held onto consoles, panels, whatever they'd managed to grab a hold of. A few crewmembers who'd lost their grips, or hadn't managed to get one at all, were sent tumbling off across the deck, lost amidst the flotsam of other loose items and unsecured equipment that began tumbling like a tide across CIC.

For his part, Commander Kelso was practically vaulted across the plot table, barely managing to keep from plummeting over the far edge, instead merely coming to rest splayed across the top like a bug on a windshield.

Slipping his feet firmly back onto the deck, Kelso absently listened to the dull thuds reverberating through the ship, the sound of Cylon debris still bouncing off the _Pacifica_'s armored hull.

"Report," coughed Kelso as he focused back in on DRADIS.

"We are now at a dead stop, Commander," gasped Barris as she slowly let go her grip on her station console.

With the slightest grin of satisfaction, Kelso noted that the _Pacifica_ had come to rest directly behind the dead Cylon Baseship, just as he'd wanted. From their current positions, none of the other three Basestars had direct line of sight on _Pacifica_.

"Where are our Vipers?"

"They're coming in astern now, Commander," replied Cullen as he finished readjusting his headset back into place.

"Capshaw, get on the wireless, order our birds back onto the deck," continued Kelso as leaned forward onto the plot table, taking a little weight off his still-throbbing ankle.

"Aye, sir."

* * *

Major Kyle Abuhda's heart skipped a beat as he deftly maneuvered his Viper around a drifting chunk of debris. Muttering a slight curse, Abuhda brought the nose of his fighter, the last surviving Viper still aloft, around to line back up for a combat landing on the dimly lit Port landing deck.

Combat landings, by definition, lacked grace, more a controlled crash meant to get fighters back on the deck quickly. As his Viper skidded to a stop, deck crew clad in full EVA suits raced over to move his plane over to one of the lifts to the lower service decks.

"CAG to CIC, all birds are back on deck," he gasped, collapsing a bit into his seat as he fought to release the grip his throbbing fingers had from around the control stick.

* * *

"All right, McCall," sighed Kelso as he limped his way around the plot table. "Bring our nose up, ninety degrees, nestle us in tight to the dead Basestar."

"Understood, Commander."

As the helmsman adjusted the _Pacifica_ per Kelso's order, the Commander motioned for Colonel Cole and Lieutenant Cullen to join him.

"Give me the report, Lieutenant," sighed Kelso as his two officers stepped up.

"Forty-one Vipers lost, three more damaged and unserviceable," began Cullen evenly as he handed a clipboard over to Kelso. "Primary munitions magazines are down to fifty-three percent, suppressive batteries report ammo reserves at forty-seven percent."

"Damage?" muttered Kelso as he scanned over the printout on the clipboard.

"DC teams are getting a handle on the fires amidships, for now they're contained," began Cole as she rubbed a knot from her neck. "We've got a lot of wounded down there though; sickbay is overwhelmed. Doc Hudson's got deck hands acting as medics."

Taking a deep breath, Kelso set the clipboard down on the plot table.

Just then, the handset on the side of the plot table buzzed for his attention.

"This is Actual," said Kelso as he lifted the handset to his ear.

"_Franklin, here_," barked the hoarse voice of _Pacifica_'s Engineer on the other end. "_You done getting my ship shot at up there, sir_?"

"Not yet," replied Kelso simply as he looked back up at the DRADIS. "Give me the short story, Mike."

"_Short story is we have FTL back up_," replied Franklin flatly. "_As long as Cole's people can keep the fires from spreading, we'll be able to keep the Mains online_."

"No promises, Mike, keep on it," countered Kelso as he hung up the handset.

With his fingers gently tapping the plot table, Kelso watched the DRADIS as he quickly digested the situation.

The _Pacifica_ was now well covered and obscured behind the dead Basestar and its debris field. The Cylon Raiders had broken off pursuit and were maintaining defensive positions around the three remaining Basestars. The Basestars themselves had slowed their approach and were apparently redeploying themselves in an attempt to reacquire line-of-sight on _Pacifica_.

"At least they've stopped firing," noted Cullen evenly.

"Their DRADIS is being obscured by the debris field," stated Cole as she momentarily glanced back over at the DC panel. "Even if they do fire, the likelihood of a good target lock is low."

"What's to prevent them from firing on the dead Basestar, sir?" asked Cullen flatly. "As close as we are, that ship goes up it'll take us with it."

"Moral superiority," muttered Kelso sardonically. "The Cylons never fire on their own; it would be murder. And by Cylon logic, murder is something only _humans_ do."

"Still, we're not going to be able to hide here long," noted Cole as she gently adjusted her glasses. "Cylons will have direct line-of-sight on us in ten, fifteen minutes at most."

His fingers gently drumming away on the plot table surface, Kelso mulled over his options. As he did so, his gaze began to absently wander, first to Cole, then to the report Cullen had handed him, back to the DRADIS, and then to a medic applying a bandage to the forehead of a crewman in the upper gallery. Every couple of seconds, the ship shook slightly, the dull thud of yet another chunk of debris bouncing off the hull audibly reverberating through the air.

"Commander," interjected Cole as she motioned for Kelso to look back at the DRADIS. "Raiders again."

Sure enough.

Apparently not content to simply wait until their Basestars were in a position to attack again, the Cylon Raiders had resumed their approach, coming in fast from multiple directions.

"Now we've got about seven minutes," sighed Cole, shaking her head slightly.

Kelso's head dropped a bit as he took a deep breath. After a moment, his eyes narrowed as he straightened up and leveled a resolute gaze on his two officers.

"Capshaw, get on the horn down to Chief Lerner, make sure our birds are being prepped for another sortie," called Kelso as he motioned Cullen and Cole closer in around the plot table.

"What have you got in mind, Commander?" asked Cole flatly as she leaned in expectantly.

Without immediately answering, Commander Kelso snatched up a grease pencil, pulled the report printout from the clipboard, flipped it over and began sketching.

"Alright, Cullen, you've got five minutes to plot me a jump," sighed Kelso as he finished his sketch, a rough diagram of the image on DRADIS. "I want to pop in down here at the far end of their approach axis, just outside optimum engagement range."

"Aye, sir," muttered Cullen apprehensively.

"Is there are problem, Lieutenant?" asked Colonel Cole flatly.

"Five minutes, Colonel," he replied with a weak shrug. "It'll take ten minutes to close the landing pods for a jump…"

"We're jumping with them extended," replied Kelso flatly, leveling a distinctly no-nonsense glare on the young officer. "Now get on that jump calculation, Lieutenant."

"Aye, sir."

As Cullen made his way off through CIC, Colonel Cole leaned in a little closer.

"A jump with the pods open, with all due respect, that's a touch risky," she muttered under her breath. "The damage we've taken amidships might have compromised our structural integrity…"

"It's risky, yes, but possible," replied Kelso curtly. "And so is this…"

Tearing a piece of the report away, Kelso quickly scribbled out a long series of numbers and letters.

Then, leveling Cole with a decidedly resolute expression, Kelso handed the slip of paper to her.

"Take this, get over to Weapons Control."

Holding his gaze, Colonel Cole felt the color drain a bit from her face as she looked at the piece of paper.

To be sure, during the course of the war both the Cylons, and to a lesser extent the Colonials, had used nuclear ordnance against one another. It wasn't unheard of, it simply was never an order Commander Adrian Kelso himself had ever issued.

"Target package?" asked Cole hoarsely, her voice choking a bit as she felt her mouth begin to go dry.

"Soft launch," replied Kelso as he glanced back up at DRADIS and the closing Raiders. "I want you to set them adrift amongst the rest of the debris, rig them for a five second delayed detonation."

Like a bell, Cole suddenly understood what Kelso had in mind.

"Mines," she grinned as she at last slowly took hold of the proffered slip of paper.

Commander Kelso only gave the slightest of nods as he motioned her towards launch control.

"I must point out, Commander, that by giving me your nuclear launch code you're committing about two dozen violations of both military and civilian law," muttered Cole as she absently ran her thumb over the page. "And by taking it, my neck is also on the line for just about as many."

Looking back up at the Basestars and Raiders closing in on DRADIS, Kelso let out a long breath.

"We don't really have the luxury of protocols at the moment, but if it helps, I'll go on record as giving you a _direct order_ to take that paper," smirked Kelso. "And if we manage to survive the next ten minutes, I'll be sure to hire us some damned good lawyers for the court-martial."

"Aye, sir," nodded Cole as she straightened up, the slightest hint of a smile still curling the edge of her lip as she stepped away from the plot table.

As she moved, Kelso snatched up the handset and toggled the switch to buzz the Ordnance Officer.

"This is a nuclear mission order," he said firmly as the handset picked up on the other end. "Prepare warheads in tubes one through four."

Though his eyes never left DRADIS, Kelso could almost sense the subdued wave of shock passing through the crew around him as Colonel Cole quickly made her way over to the CIC Weapons Control.

As he set the handset back into place, Kelso glanced over to Lieutenant Cullen.

"Jump plotted, Commander," stated Cullen as he finished imputing a data set into the jump computer.

"Cole?"

"Coming along, Commander," replied Cole as she and the crewman assisting her hurriedly punched in the commands and toggled the switches for the hatches over the ship's the launch tubes. "Okay, Harper, retrieve the launch keys."

Within moments, the crewman stepped back over with a small sealed case. Taking the case from her, Cole stepped over to one of the keypads around the center console, inserted one of the keys, then began punching in the Commander's code from the piece of paper in her hand.

His fingers gently tapping the top of the plot table, Kelso watched as the wall of Raiders continued to close in, barely two minutes away now. Glancing over, Kelso watched Cole quickly move around to the other side of the central console in Weapons Control and insert the second launch key.

"Cullen?" called Kelso as he watched Cole punch in her launch code.

"FTL drives one and two are spun up and ready, Commander," snapped the Lieutenant as he slipped the FTL key into the console. "Ready to start the clock on your order."

"Colonel?"

"Standing by to start countdown on your mark, Commander," called Cole as she motioned a clearly hesitant Harper over towards the unmanned launch key on at the center console.

"Copy, that," replied Kelso as he reached down, picked up the handset, and toggled the switch to the One-MC. "All hands, all stations, prepare for emergency FTL jump."

As he dropped the handset back into place, Kelso's eyes locked back in on DRADIS.

"Drop our presents into the debris, Colonel," said Kelso simply as he watched the enemy ships closing overhead.

Within moments, he watched as four new icons appeared overhead on DRADIS; the four nuclear warheads just released by _Pacifica_.

The wall of Raiders closing in…

The three remaining Basestars closing in behind them…

The dead Basestar nestled in close, blocking the approaching enemy…

Four nuclear warheads, masked by the radiation bleeding away from the dead Basestar, slowly dispersing through the debris field…

"One minute till Raiders reacquire us, Commander," called Cole expectantly from Weapons Control.

"Hold..."

His fingers continued to tap…

"Forty-five seconds…"

"Hold…"

Kelso could feel his pulse quickening…

"Thirty-seconds…"

"_Hold_…"

A bead of sweat trickled down his cheek…

"Twenty-seconds…"

"Mister Cullen, start the clock!"

"Aye, sir," snapped Cullen as he turned the FTL key. "Clock is running. Jump in ten, nine, eight, seven…"

The first of the approaching Raiders came into clear line-of-sight on _Pacifica_ and immediately launched a massed volley of missiles…

"Six…five…"

"Now, Colonel!"

Without a word, Colonel Cole used the Weapons Control console to transmit a coded signal activating the delayed timers on all four of _Pacifica_'s dispersed warheads.

"Detonation in four…three…"

"Initiating jump!"

His eyes intently locked on DRADIS, Kelso maintained a wholly unreadable countenance as the dimension altering physics of the _Pacifica_ initiating her FTL jump skewed his all-too-human perceptions. On the DRADIS screen, the closing Cylon Raiders, their rapidly closing volley of missiles, his heart pounding in his chest, Commander Adrian Kelso felt himself engulfed in surrealistic vertigo as the CIC around him seeming to both contract and expand in the same instance…

A split second later the sensation fell away, the DRADIS screen shifted to show _Pacifica_ now at the far end of the line of Cylon Basestars, instantly distanced from the approaching Raiders as the screen flared with the telltale signature of nuclear detonations.

With no small satisfaction, everyone in CIC let out a jubilant cry, watching as the large cluster of Cylon Raiders that had only moments before been racing in towards them, now far removed, were vaporized by the detonation of _Pacifica_'s warheads and the even more spectacular sympathetic detonation of the dead Basestar.

Yet even as Colonel Cole made her way back to his side, Commander Adrian Kelso understood just how short their reprieve might actually be as he watched the three remaining Cylon Basestars change course and begin bearing back down on the now-unconcealed Battlestar.

"I think we've pissed them off," said Cole wryly as the nearest Basestar launched off a volley of missiles.

* * *

Major Kyle Abuhda's brow was covered in sweat as he helped two deck hands feed rounds into the autoloader on his Viper. Off to his side, another crewman kept her eyes keenly glued to the gauge as she topped off the ship's fuel. To the rear of the Viper, still two more of the deck gang were gingerly loading two missiles into the underside storage rack, warily avoiding the scalding hot engine cowlings.

As he continued to load rounds into the Viper's ammo drum, Abuhda paused as the dull drone of _Pacifica_'s defensive guns resuming fire began echoing through the expanse of the hangar deck. A moment later, the entire vessel shook under what Abuhda assumed was a Cylon missile impact.

The blast caused only the briefest pause amongst the racing service crews, however. As he glanced around the service deck, Abuhda saw that a few Vipers were already being moved back towards the launch tubes.

"Look, I don't give a frak!"

The booming voice of the deck chief, Chief Lerner cut through the hectic din of the hangar deck as she menacingly pointed a clipboard directly into the face of a visibly intimidated deck hand.

"Quit your bitchin' and get that Viper serviced and ready to fly! Commander wants another sortie, then gods dammit, he's going to get another fraking sortie!"

With that, the deck hand scurried away into the purposeful chaos around them as Chief Lerner glanced meaningfully over at Abuhda.

Another sortie…

The refueling and rearming _wasn't_ just a precaution…

Commander Kelso was going to continue the fight…

Abuhda simply nodded in acknowledgment as Chief Lerner turned and jogged off across the deck.

As the ship shook from another missile impact, Major Abuhda tried to remain outwardly composed as he digested the seemingly grim situation unfolding.

They'd already fought down two Cylon Basestars, tooth and nail, taking heavy damage and losses in the process.

True, the deck crew rumor mill had been quick to pick up the news that a large contingent of Cylon Raiders had been wiped out. Nevertheless, as the situation stood at that moment, the battered _Pacifica_ and her equally battered air wing still had three fully functional Cylon Baseships to contend with.

In all the twelve long years of war, no lone Battlestar, let alone one as wounded as the _Pacifica_ currently was, had gone against three Baseships and survived.

And yet, while that sobering fact left Abuhda feeling as though a leaden weight had fallen into the pit of his stomach, from somewhere else deep within him, a grim sense of determination was stirred that left him grinning.

They might not survive much longer, but at least they were giving the Cylons one hell-of-a fight.

Briskly wiping the sweat from his brow, Abuhda cycled the last round into the auto-feed, primed and locked the main breech, then slapped the access panel shut and removed the weapon safety pins.

Snatching up his helmet from the deck, Abuhda practically leapt up into the cockpit as the deck crew began sliding his Viper towards the launch tube.

Locking his helmet in place, Abuhda yanked the cockpit canopy shut as the deck crew scrambled out from around his plane.

As the inner airlock door closed behind his Viper, Major Kyle Abuhda casually nestled himself back into his seat.

Live or die, he was ready to get back into the middle of one hell-of-a fight.

* * *

"Helm, ahead one-half," called Commander Kelso as the ship shook from another impact. "Bring us to Starboard zero-nine-zero, take us perpendicular to their approach axis."

"Aye, sir, zero-nine-zero to Starboard," replied McCall instantly.

"Engines answering ahead one-half, Commander," interjected Barris a moment later as another jarring impact caused the overhead lights to flicker momentarily.

Casting a quick glance over his shoulder, Kelso noted with some small satisfaction that Dani Cole had once again resumed control over the DC efforts, even as several more indicators began flashing urgently for her attention on the board.

Casting his attention back to the DRADIS, Kelso watched as the three remaining Basestars continued to hound in on _Pacifica_.

As he'd hoped, _Pacifica_'s FTL jump had placed them at the extreme end of the Cylon line. Pushing out to flank their line of advance, all three Cylon ships were now directly broadside while _Pacifica_ herself was now outside the firing range of two of the Basestars, at least for the moment. The closest Baseship, however, was still launching volley after volley as it closed the distance towards _Pacifica_.

"Order suppressive batteries to sustain their rate of fire," called Kelso flatly as he watched another series of missiles streak in. "Dorsal batteries to begin salvo fire as soon as they have a firing solution."

"Dorsal battery crews are reporting problems with the ammo hoists, Commander," called Cullen, the frustration evident in his voice.

"Cole?" shot Kelso as he glanced back over his shoulder.

"The safety lockouts have been engaged because of the fires amidships, Commander," replied Dani, pausing a moment to bark a few curt orders into the handset at her ear. "If we override, the ordnance could cook-off on the hoists."

"What about the ventral hoists?"

"Indicators are still green, sir."

"Helm, adjust yaw angle, twenty degrees down a-Starboard, present our ventral side," snapped Kelso as he returned his attention to the DRADIS display.

"Aye, sir."

Kelso keenly felt the situation becoming graver by the second. With the dorsal ammo hoists down, fully one-third of _Pacifica_'s main arsenal was out of action with three Basestars still in the fight. With fires raging virtually uncontained through already critically damaged areas of the ship, threatening at any moment to ignite either the main tylium stores, the ammo bunkers, or both, _Pacifica_'s Commander felt all too certain that he and his entire crew were living on a heavily mortgaged amount of borrowed time.

"No, I said get them out of there now!" snapped Dani Cole, a handset pressed firmly to her ear, her tone sharp enough to cut through the cacophony surrounding CIC. "Hello…_hello_!"

In spite of himself, Kelso looked back over just in time to see her toss aside the handset and stepped purposefully towards the DC panel.

"Prepare for emergency venting," she sighed painfully.

"Colonel, we still have hundreds of people…" began one of the crewmen assisting her at DC.

"We have _thousands_ who'll die if those fires turn this ship into miniature nova; we have to put them out now!" she snapped curtly, her hand lashing out and grabbing a fistful of the crewman's uniform tunic. "Do it!"

Sheepishly, the crewman stepped, or was more accurately shoved back by the Colonel, towards the DC panel.

As Colonel Cole's gaze met Kelso's, there was a profoundly apologetic glaze to her eyes that perhaps only Kelso would have been able to discern.

Turning back to the panel herself, Dani paused for a moment, took a deep breath, inserted the safety lockout key into the emergency panel, and glanced expectantly at the crewman she'd so nearly knocked to the deck.

He gave only the barest hint of a nod in return.

Taking another breath, Cole's head dipped a bit as she clasped both hands onto the key, turned it, and slapped her palm down on the activation switch.

In response, emergency hatches throughout the damaged sections of the ship opened out into the cold vacuum of space, suffocating the raging infernos.

As the atmosphere feeding the flames was blown out into space, so too were a terrible number of bodies, some flailing against the inevitable oblivion, others already still in death.

As the myriad of red indicators on the DC panel snapped from red back to green indicating extinguishment of the fires, Colonel Cole seemed to collapse against the panel for a moment.

All under the watchful, sympathetic gaze of Commander Kelso.

Terrible as it might be, it had been the right decision…

The _only_ decision…

A numbers game…

Sacrifice hundreds, save thousands…

Keep the ship in the fight, perhaps even millions…

As Cole's eyes turned back to meet the Commander's gaze, the entire ship again shook under a torrent of missile impacts, shattering the somberly surreal moment.

Bracing himself against the plot table, Kelso's gaze swiftly moved back to the DRADIS.

In spite of the suppressive fire being laid down by _Pacifica_, the nearest Baseship was still closing in relentlessly, undeterred even by the heavy anti-ship cannonade pouring forth from the ventral batteries.

Then came a chillingly shrill alarm from the DRADIS.

"Radiological alarm!" burst Lieutenant Cullen.

Kelso felt the blood drain from his face.

Reaching down, he snatched up the handset and toggled the switch for the One-MC. In an instant, any number of orders that he could issue flashed through his mind. As the nuclear tipped missile streaked in towards the _Pacifica_, he felt powerless, what more could he honestly order or expect of his crew?

There was no time for a jump…

No way to outmaneuver the missile…

"All hands, brace for contact," he said flatly, resigned that nothing could stop the seemingly inevitable.

Placing the handset back in its place, Kelso instinctively tightened his grip on the plot table.

"Helm, give me twenty more degrees down a-Starboard," said Kelso as he returned his gave to the DRADIS.

"Aye, sir."

It was simply the only thing they could do; present more of the virtually undamaged ventral section of the ship to absorb what would without question be a truly punishing impact.

Overhead, DRADIS flared as the ear-splitting crash of the missile impact reverberated through the very alloy bones of the _Pacifica_. The entire deck pitched violently, tossing crewmen aside effortlessly as the supports, the bulkheads, the deck, the _Pacifica_ herself seemed to groan in agony.

Panels exploded in sparks, consoles overloaded, the scorched scent of burnt ozone permeated the air, as did the desperate calls of crewmen being tossed, burned, or electrocuted.

His gaze darting about the quaking CIC, Kelso's grip held firm to the plot table as the overhead lights flickered, then died altogether.

Overhead, DRADIS flared brightly from the radiation cascade, then it too cut out completely…

Screens and consoles not already shattered surged then darkened with a slow whine…

"Helm is non-responsive, Commander!" called McCall frantically amid the quickly darkening CIC.

The ship's systems were crashing; _Pacifica_ was dying…

"Nuclear detonation, ventral aft, engineering section, Commander," called Colonel Cole as the emergency battery powered lights around CIC flickered to life, casting eerie shadows. "Main power is down; engineering teams are trying to spin up the aux-generators, but they've got new fires in their area raging out of control."

Having thought his spirits could sink no lower, as every system of his ship crashed, so too did his soul find a way to crash even lower.

No power…

No guns…

No protection…

Utterly defenseless…

And three Basestars bearing down like merciless sharks enthralled with blood lust…

"By the gods, we need a miracle," muttered Kelso softly as he looked up at the blank DRADIS screen.

Just then, another impact slammed into the dying _Pacifica_.

* * *

Major Kyle Abuhda scowled over at the Launch Officer.

"What the frak is going?"

"_The ship has lost main power, Major_," replied the LO over the emergency battery-powered wireless set in his hand. "_Radiological alarms have tripped, must have taken a hit from a nuke_."

"Frak," muttered Abuhda weakly as he looked down the darkened launch tunnel before him.

His Viper rocked slightly on its skids as another impact slammed into the powerless leviathan.

Without power, the ECM systems were out and the suppressive guns wouldn't be able to knock down any of the incoming Cylon ordnance; in spite of having her full armor package installed, without her other defenses, the _Pacifica_ would be torn to pieces in a matter of minutes.

"We still have birds in all the tubes, correct?"

"_That's affirmative, Major, but the mag-catapult systems are down_."

"What about the steam-powered back-ups; were they up to full pressure before the ship lost power?"

"_Yes, sir, the board was green_."

Taking a deep breath, Abuhda settled back into his seat, and began throttling-up his engines.

"Then launch us."

"_Sir_?"

"I said get us into the frakin' air!" burst Abuhda as he glared past the canopy at the LO.

"All Vipers, this is Butter, prepare to launch," said Abuhda as he toggled his wireless over to the squadron frequency.

As he heard the acknowledgements filter back over the channel, Abuhda locked eyes with the LO, pointed two fingers directly down the launch tube and then executed a smart salute.

The LO returned the smart salute and then dropped his palm down on the emergency pneumatic button, unleashing a truly gut-wrenching amount of pent-up force that sent Abuhda's Viper hurtling down the launch tube.

* * *

"Sir, you need to hear this," called Lieutenant Cullen as he bounded over to the plot table with a battery powered wireless set.

Taking the set from Cullen, Kelso pressed the attached headset to his ear.

Instantly, his ears, and with them his spirits, lifted.

"Viper chatter," he muttered.

Moreover, Kelso realized within moments that he recognized the call signs; the Vipers were from _Pacifica_, in spite of the ship wide power loss they'd gotten aloft, and thank the gods, they were defending the ship.

As he continued to listen, Kelso closed his eyes, trying to envision the action in his mind as though it were on the blank DRADIS overhead.

And it was then that he heard the one call sign over the wireless he'd most hoped to hear.

"_Butter, two coming in low at your four o'clock_."

"_Got'em_," replied Butter instantly, the distinct sound of the Viper's guns firing echoing in the background. "_Scratch two_."

Adjusting the headset, Kelso toggled the switch to transmit.

* * *

"_Butter, this is _Pacifica_-Actual_."

"Uh, I'm kind of busy at the moment, Actual," growled Abuhda as he deftly maneuvered his Viper around and let off a burst from his guns at an incoming missile.

Out of the corners of his eye, Abuhda saw two other Vipers slide in on either side of him, likewise attempting to down two more incoming missiles.

With satisfaction, Abuhda saw all three explode harmlessly at a distance.

"_Butter_," continued Commander Kelso, using CAG's actual call sign. "_I'm not going to sugarcoat this_."

"Never have before, wouldn't expect you to start now, Commander," replied Abuhda as he let off new burst at another streaking missile.

"_You and your people are all we've got right now_," stated Kelso flatly. "_The _only_ thing between this ship and those chrome bastards are your birds_."

"Figured as much, Commander."

Thankfully, his next burst hit home as the missile exploded harmlessly in the void.

"_Good hunting, Major_."

Abuhda barely grunted in response as he focused his eyes, searching for the telltale contrail of another incoming missile.

And yet through it all was a sight that left Abuhda's stomach in a fidgety knot; three Basestars stalking towards them like ravenous wolves. While only one was close enough to heave ordnance their direction, the other two were closing the gap at a steady clip.

The Vipers that had launched with him were now spread out along the length of the powerless _Pacifica_. With her power out, the woefully thin line of Vipers now constituted the _only_ defense the battered carrier had left. Cognizant of nothing else so acutely, the assembled Vipers were frantically attempting to down any missile racing in towards the wounded Battlestar.

In spite of their efforts, however, valiant or even crazed as they were, there were still missiles which made it through, slamming into the listing leviathan as her inertia continued to carry her forward. If there were any saving grace to be thankful for at that moment, it would be that although it had been a nuclear warhead which had stricken _Pacifica_'s main power, the Cylons were now incongruously limiting themselves to conventional warheads.

Why?

"What, like I should be fraking complaining about it?" muttered Abuhda to himself, hoping that his merely thinking such hadn't tempted the Fates.

Quickly glancing below him, Abuhda felt his gut twist in utter shock at the sheer number of impact marks marring the _Pacifica_'s armored hull. Dozens, tens of dozens of jagged gaps scattered along the surface left him in awe over the fact that the ship had not already broken up under the relentless assault.

And yet without power, the wounded _Pacifica_ continued to drift aimlessly, listing defenselessly, spinning slowly along her long axis, some of her wounds shedding sheets of armor plating, the cracked and pitted surface venting atmosphere or water from her forward tanks, the two sights feeding the all-to-apt impression that the ship was slowly bleeding to death.

Anger boiling up in his veins, Abuhda glared back out at the three Basestars as another finally reached firing range and instantly let off a volley of missiles. A Viper to his left reflexively let off a burst which stitched two neat lines across the missiles' flight paths; two detonated instantly, a third spun wildly for a moment before exploding.

Barely glancing down at DRADIS, Abuhda instead kept his eyes keenly focused on the vast stretches between him and the approaching Basestars. A small surge of adrenaline shot through him as a missile streaked forth, and in spite of his efforts, evaded his bursts to slam into the injured _Pacifica_.

"Oh, I've fraking had about enough of this," he snapped, suddenly slamming his throttles to the firewall.

With a kick of acceleration, he nosed his Viper over and charged headlong towards the closest Basestar.

Even as he did so, every cell in his body seemed to scream out how ludicrous it was to do what he was now doing; by the gods, he knew, what could one lone Viper do against an entire Basestar?

Ignoring the eruption of calls and chatter over the wireless channel, Major Kyle Abuhda steeled himself to the ominous sight of the two conjoined disks growing larger in his field of vision.

Even as he chuckled to himself at the sheer lunacy of what he was doing, Abuhda continued on.

"_CAG's not responding, I'm going after him_," stated one of the other Viper pilots over the wireless.

"That's a negative, Zipper, do not break formation!" barked Abuhda curtly as he fired off a brief burst at a missile racing towards him, downing it. "All of you are to hold air-defense positions; protecting the _Pacifica_ is your overriding priority!"

"_You expect us to just watch you commit suicide, sir_?"

"Negative, I expect you to follow orders," replied Abuhda curtly as he deftly rolled his Viper out of the way of a second missile.

* * *

Commander Adrian Kelso slowly paced his way around the center plot table.

All around, CIC was cast in eerie darkness save for the few battery power emergency lamps. Even the crewmembers around CIC were strangely silent, indeed, without power they had little to do but wait expectantly at their posts. A few glanced anxiously at the clock on the wall, no small number muttered prayers. As he continued to pace, Kelso was keenly aware of the anxious eyes following him as he moved around the center table.

The vessel rocked with another missile impact, threatening to knock Kelso off-balance as he kept making circuits around the center table, one hand pressing the headset against his ear as he continued to listen to the wireless chatter from the Vipers aloft.

Yet another missile slammed into the dying Battlestar, fully knocking Kelso down to the deck. As he bit down on a curse, the Commander lifted himself back onto his now much more severely twisted ankle and glared up at the blank DRADIS screen.

* * *

"Frak me," whispered Major Kyle Abuhda as he looked out at the massive dual disk form of the Cylon Basestar filling his field of view.

With his heart pounding so hard it felt as though it would burst through his chest, Abuhda licked at his dry lips with an equally parched tongue and genuinely wondered how he'd managed to penetrate so close to the enemy ship.

It certainly wasn't for lack of effort on the part of the Cylons; a few missile volleys and some close bursts from their light defense guns had nearly ended his headlong charge, the neat line of holes in his left wing was proof enough of that.

And yet by the grace of the gods, he'd managed to pierce their defenses to the point where his Viper now rested within the cavernous gap between the upper and lower disks.

Astonishment rapidly gave way to annoyance, however, as Abuhda realized he'd survived everything the Cylons had thrown at him in order to, well, he didn't have any gods damned idea what to do next.

What could one Viper do against a Basestar?

Gently rotating the nose of his Viper around, Abuhda started to look for a target, _any_ target, anything that might qualify as a target of opportunity. Against the thick, armored hull of a Basestar, there was really very little the comparatively small cannons and missiles of a Viper could damage or destroy. All the more frustrating, the Basestar was still hurtling its own missiles at the _Pacifica_.

Over the wireless, Abuhda could still hear the chatter of the other pilots as they continued their stout defense, trying, succeeding, and sometimes failing to fell the missiles that were hammering their dying carrier.

As his eyes continued to peer out across the surface of the Basestar, Abuhda hugged his Viper tighter to the hull to avoid becoming an easier target. For their part, the Cylons seemed to be ignoring him; apparently they didn't consider a lone Viper to be much of a threat either.

Frustration seething, adrenaline bubbling in his veins, Abuhda's Viper continued to skim along the surface as he continued in vain to search for an engageable target until finally he reached the rim of the upper disk hull. With a deft movement, Abuhda whipped his Viper up and around to the upper side of the disk. As he did so, he caught a glimpse of an upper defense turret swiveling towards him. Instinctively, he lined up his Viper and fired a burst that tore into the mount, knocking it out of action before it could fire.

With that done, his hunt for a more significant target resumed.

His eyes continued to dart back and forth…

Suddenly, a missile rocketed off from nearby, passing mere inches from his canopy…

His already pounding heart skipped a few beats as the missile raced by and on towards the _Pacifica_. As his eyes followed the contrail, he felt the barest hint of relief as the missile disappeared in a small detonation, cut down by Viper gunfire.

Returning his attention to the expansive Cylon hull before him, Abuhda's heart skipped yet another beat, but this time for a whole different reason.

Right in front of him was the entry into the Basestar's upper Raider hangar, its door apparently jammed open, damaged by fire from the _Pacifica_.

With a kick of acceleration, Abuhda flew his Viper in through the hangar entrance.

A shrill alarm erupted from him main console as the dull thud of rounds impacting the left side of his Viper echoed around him. As a round smashed through the canopy, Abuhda reflexively jumped in his seat as his hand jerked the control stick, whipping the Viper nose around. A trio of Cylon Centurions, their chrome armor highlighted by muzzles flashes, stood firing from an entryway to one side of the hangar. As the nose of his Viper came around, Abuhda pressed down on his thumb trigger, a neat line of rounds ripping into the Centurions.

After a quick burst from his cannons, the Centurions' fire ceased, their shattered bodies a surreal image of legs and ripped torsos magnetically anchored to the deck, while arms, heads and shredded parts floated about in near zero-g.

For a moment, Abuhda found himself transfixed by a lone hole one of the rounds had punched through the canopy. Reaching up with his gloved hand, he gently fingered it as he wondered just how close the round had actually come to his head.

Shaking the thought from his mind, Abuhda gave his instruments a quick once-over, ascertained that the Centurions hadn't damaged any vital systems, and resumed his search for a target within the vast expanse of the Raider hangar, the space now empty, the Basestar's entire complement of Raiders gone, indeed vaporized.

A target.

He _needed_ a target.

And as his eyes caught sight of something on the far side of the hangar, a wide grin suddenly spread across his face.

To one side of the empty hangar, almost unbelievably, several pallets of munitions were stacked neatly beside a Raider refueling station.

"Thank you, gods," muttered Abuhda as he swung the nose of his Viper around.

Toggling the launch computer to select one of the missiles tucked underneath his plane, Abuhda held his breath until he heard the telltale tone indicating a firm target lock.

Gently flexing his fingers around the control stick, Abuhda felt his whole body tense up as his thumb settled in over the firing trigger.

His heart pounding, Abuhda pressed down on the trigger, felt the distinct thump of the missile as it dropped, its launch motor igniting, hurtling the missile away from underneath the Viper. Within a fraction of a second, Abuhda yanked hard on the control stick, whipping the sleek fighter's nose around towards the hangar door, and slammed the throttles to the firewall.

With a satisfying kick of acceleration, Abuhda was pushed back against his seat as the bright flash of a massive explosion blossomed out of the corner of his eye. Barely a moment later, his Viper sailed clear of the hangar opening as flames began to lick the sides of his fighter.

Holding the nose of his Viper steady once he'd cleared the hangar, Abuhda continued to accelerate away, chancing a momentary glance backwards as the entire upper disc of the Cylon Baseship was engulfed in a fiery cluster of secondary detonations.

In his ears, Abuhda listened as the squadron wireless channel erupted with the excited cries of his fellow pilots as the remainder of the now mortally wounded Basestar was engulfed in a series of blinding explosions.

* * *

Kelso was still biting his lip to the pain coursing through his ankle when the excited cries of his Viper pilots burst out over the emergency wireless headset.

"_Frak, yeah_!"

"_Chalk up one Basestar for recycling_…"

"…_he did it, I can't believe the son-of-a-bitch actually did it_…"

At almost the same moment, the overhead lights flickered back to life, the DRADIS and several other displays startling him slightly as they too came back online.

"Engineering reports partial main power restored, Commander," called Colonel Cole triumphantly.

"Yes," growled Kelso as he thumped a fist down onto the plot board.

* * *

Major Abuhda blinked several times to try and clear the spots from his vision as he maneuvered his Viper almost purely by reflex.

Looking back over at the _Pacifica_, Abuhda felt a smile curl his lips as he watched the venerable Battlestar begin to right her list and start an evasive turn away from the dying Basestar, the enemy vessel now completely swallowed up by internal explosions.

* * *

As the DRADIS system completed its restart sequence, Kelso straightened himself up, gathering himself for the battle that was still left to fight.

Abuhda had pulled off a miracle, to be sure, felling an entire Basestar with his Viper, but there were still two more Cylon ships to contend with.

"Give me an update, Lieutenant Cullen," snapped Kelso evenly.

"The remaining Baseships are moving off, Commander," replied Cullen a moment later. "Our Vipers are maintaining their defensive formation."

The handset at Cullen's station buzzed for his attention. Snatching it up, a small grin spread across the young officer's face.

"Port and Starboard pods report power restored to all catapult systems, sir."

"Order all remaining Vipers into the air, Lieutenant," said Commander Kelso evenly.

* * *

Major Abuhda gently maneuvered his Viper back in line with the others already haloing the wounded _Pacifica_. Looking out along the battered warship, Abuhda watched with reserved satisfaction as the remainder of the _Pacifica_'s Vipers sallied forth from the launch tubes and maneuvered out to join the defense line, adding their cannon fire to the still continuing effort to knock out incoming Cylon missiles which continued to erupt from the two remaining Baseships.

"CAG to all Vipers, keep up your suppressive fires, don't let any of those missiles through," he called as he let off a burst that cut through one of the incoming projectiles.

* * *

"Has power to the main batteries been restored yet?" called Kelso as he continued to watch his Vipers spread out in defensive formations on the DRADIS, the two Baseships beyond still hurtling the occasional missile as they redeployed themselves yet again.

"Not fully, Commander," replied Colonel Cole flatly, gently massaging the bridge of her nose as she stood at the DC panel, a handset still firmly pressed to her ear. "Firing systems are back up but Battery Plot reports their computers are still down."

"What about manual sighting?"

"Ammo feed systems to all batteries are down too, Commander," continued Cole apologetically.

Kelso let out a frustrated sigh.

"DRADIS contact," called Lieutenant Cullen, his shoulders dropping a bit. "A new contact has just jumped into range, Commander; CBDR, bearing three-one-one carom zero-six-two."

Although he remained ramrod straight at the plot table, his command veneer wavering for only the briefest of moments, internally Commander Adrian Kelso felt his heart utterly sink, his skin grow deathly cold.

Casting his eyes around CIC, Kelso saw his crew; they looked so tired, their eyes exhausted and aged, a few with bandaged wounds, several more with wounds exposed, dried blood on uniforms, fresh blood trickling down cheeks, foreheads, hands. His gaze slowly settled in on his own hands, firmly pressed down against the plot table, the fingers on his right hand beginning to twitch uncontrollably.

Squeezing his hand into a tight fist, Kelso willed himself to look back up the DRADIS as an icon representing the new contact appeared on the screen. The new contact was moving in at a good clip, racing in directly towards the _Pacifica_; it would be on them in a matter of moments.

Kelso looked over his shoulder to Dani Cole.

"Main batteries?"

Cole simply shook her head in response. She opened her mouth as if about to speak, but stopped, hesitant, unsure for the first time Kelso could ever recall.

"Capshaw," began Kelso, his voice sounding hoarse even to himself. "Get CAG on the wireless, order our Vipers to…"

Kelso's voice trailed off as he looked over to the young woman at Communications and noted the decidedly perplexed look on her face. No, not perplexed; in an instant her eyes lit up, a growing stream of tears rolling down her cheek, the barest hint of a grin beginning to creep across her lips as she looked back up at him.

"Sir," she began, her voice cracking a bit. "It's the _Atlantia_."

Instantly, Kelso's eyes snapped back to the DRADIS as the CIC erupted in cheers.

* * *

Admiral Myra Sedora stood with her hands tightly clasped behind her back in the CIC of the Battlestar _Atlantia_. Her fierce eyes were locked on the overhead DRADIS display as the _Atlantia_ bore down on the two Cylon Baseships hounding the _Pacifica_.

By the time the courier Raptor carrying Commander Kelso's request for reinforcement arrived at the _Atlantia_'s location, the Cylons' orbital siege of Picon had been broken. Ordering the Raptor to return to Libran and recon the situation, Admiral Sedora had wasted no time in getting the _Atlantia_ underway once it returned and advised her of the _Pacifica_'s dire situation.

As the freshly arrived Battlestar sailed in at flank speed directly between the two remaining Basestars, Sedora felt her body tense with anticipation, her eyes narrowing hungrily; she was intent on the kill.

A handful of Raiders, a pittance at best, began a desperate run on the _Atlantia_ but were rapidly felled by a few rapid bursts from the ship's defensive batteries as the Battlestar continued on towards the Baseships.

"Commence salvo fire, all batteries, execute."

All around her, CIC echoed with the sound of the main batteries firing. Round after round erupted from the heavy cannons, slamming into the two enemy ships with raw, destructive fury. With their own defenses seemingly exhausted, the two Cylon vessels rapidly began to crumble, the punishment inflicted by the _Atlantia_ at last too much for them to withstand. As the Battlestar sailed past the two Baseships, their distinct dual disk hulls buckled, both vessels disappearing within moments in blinding explosions.

* * *

Major Kyle Abuhda relaxed his grip on the control stick, let out a long sigh, and settled back into his seat as the two remaining Cylon vessels succumbed to the punishing fire from _Atlantia_. As the newly arrived Battlestar sailed serenely onward, illuminated by the twin pyres like an avenging angel, the wireless erupted with the triumphant cries of his pilots.

Even as the wireless chatter continued, Abuhda gently nosed his Viper around and looked down at the scarred hull of the _Pacifica_. In the fading light of the explosions, the gaping holes ripped into the ship's armored hide cast a somber shadow over the elation he shared with his fellow pilots.

They'd survived.

Against odds that had few comparisons throughout the entirety of the Cylon War, they'd snatched victory from the insatiable jaws of defeat.

But he also knew that once the cost had been tallied, it was going to be horrifically high.

"_Butter, this is Jinx, you copy_?"

Abuhda suddenly realized he'd missed several of his pilots' attempts to contact him.

"This is Butter, send your traffic," he replied weakly as his eyes remained transfixed on the battered _Pacifica_ below.

"_I said, those chrome sons-a-bitches will think twice about launching another offensive now, eh_?" restated Jinx over the wireless.

This had been the nugget's first engagement; Abuhda supposed he could forgive the rook for his bravado.

"Maybe," he replied faintly, not in any way believing it himself, but too drained to say otherwise.

Bringing the nose of his Viper back around, Abuhda suddenly felt a deepening, indeed, bone deep exhaustion; the crash from an adrenaline super-high.

"Alright, cut the chatter," he began hoarsely as he once again fingered the bullet hole in his canopy. "Form up and get your butts back on the deck."

A series of acknowledgments followed of which he was only peripherally aware, his eyes continuing to scan the length of the scarred _Pacifica_. As the imposing bulk of the _Atlantia_ moved alongside _Pacifica_ into a defensive position, Abuhda watched as the other Vipers lined up and began landing on _Pacifica_'s Starboard flight pod. As he maneuvered around to line up for his own approach, Abuhda, for reasons he himself would never truly be able to articulate, began to cry.

* * *

Commander Adrian Kelso limped silently along the long rows of covered bodies lying on the deck on the Port flight pod hangar. With all the surviving Vipers over on the Starboard pod, the Port hangar was empty, save for the ever-lengthening rows of bodies.

So many bodies…

Walking silently beside him, Admiral Sedora also looked along the rows with stoic sorrow.

_Atlantia_ had sent over tens of dozens of support personnel, medics and DC teams to help the crew of the battered _Pacifica_ begin to assess and repair the heavy damage wrought upon the Battlestar.

"The DC teams have put out the last of the shipboard fires," muttered Kelso laconically as he continued along the rows.

Indeed, even as the fires were being brought under control and extinguished, medics and body retrieval teams were following hard on their heels tasked with the grim duty of collecting the casualties. The results of that follow-on effort now lay all about him in row upon row.

At either end of the Port pod's hangar deck, litter teams continued to move still more bodies into a makeshift morgue that to Kelso's eyes was already woefully overfilled. As each new body arrived, the litter team paused long enough for one of a dozen officers to remove one of the fallen crewmember's dog tags, and then direct them to a place for the body.

He'd known from the amount of damage the ship had sustained that the casualties were going to be high, but actually _seeing_ so many bodies lying motionless around him continued to hurl Commander Adrian Kelso's heart deeper into a pit of sorrow.

Closer by, one litter team was carefully draping a Colonial flag over the half burned body of a young woman they'd just brought in. Transfixed, Kelso saw that while the left side of her face was charred beyond recognition, the right side, virtually untouched, showed the painfully lovely and youthful face of a woman who'd died, tragically, far too young. Even as the flag settled into place over her still form, small specks of blood began to soak through the thin fabric.

Blood on the Colonial flag…

Looking around, Kelso saw countless bloodstains, on the decks, on the bulkheads, bloody footprints, handprints, droplet trails…

As he stood there surrounded by the blood and the dead, Commander Adrian Kelso's already quaking legs felt as though they were about to give way beneath him. With every last measure of his exhausted strength, he fought to keep from falling to his knees, fought the tears welling up in his eyes.

As Commander, he knew and accepted that it was his responsibility to lead young men and women into battle, and sometimes, issue the orders that led to their deaths. He'd lost people under his command before, gods, he knew he had, but never had he lost so many in a single engagement, indeed, he had not lost so many over his entire career. But it wasn't until this moment, walking amid the seemingly endless rows of his fallen crew, that Adrian Kelso felt he truly understood the burden of command and now carried it more earnestly than ever before in his life.

Yet even though his own spirit felt as though it were on the verge of collapse, Kelso also knew that it was part of the sobering burden of his position that he was expected to carry that load with an inspiring strength and stoic countenance he found he frankly no longer gave a damn about inside.

So many crewmen, good, irreplaceable souls, names and faces he would now never have a chance to know in life, lying cold on the hard, unfeeling deck.

As he stood there, his eyes stinging with tears he wasn't supposed to show in front of his crew, Kelso felt the steadying hand of Admiral Sedora on his shoulder. The Admiral didn't say a word, indeed, what _could_ she possibly have said that wouldn't have sounded like a hollow platitude? But, the simple contact _was_ enough to stir the last vestiges of fortitude within Kelso.

For the sake of his surviving crew, he had to remain strong.

Surreptitiously wiping the tears from his reddened eyes, Kelso gave an appreciating glance to Sedora, and then started off again along the far-too-long rows of flag-draped bodies.

As he continued to make his way past the bodies of his fallen crew, Commander Kelso caught sight of a visibly excited Lieutenant Cullen virtually exploding through a hatchway on the far side of the hangar deck. Taking a moment to glance hesitantly around at the rows lying about deck, Cullen looked up, caught sight of Kelso and Admiral Sedora, then began briskly walking over towards them with a lone printout in his hand.

As he stepped up to them, Commander Kelso saw a mixed expression on the young officer's face, obviously elated and yet hesitant as he looked sheepishly at the flags and bodies all around the deck.

"This just arrived from Picon Fleet Headquarters, sir," stated the Lieutenant, half out of breath as he stepped up to them. "It was broadcast in the clear on all channels."

Handing the printout over to Kelso, the Commander took it half-heartedly as he took one last glance around at the bodies on the deck.

So much death…

Kelso looked down at the printout in his hand, skimmed over the brief message, took a deep breath, then handed it over to Admiral Sedora before taking a single step away to look out over the rows.

Sedora watched Kelso for a moment, looked over at the visibly expectant Lieutenant, then down at the printout.

"_To all Colonial Units; acceptance and ratification of Cimtar Peace Accords by Cylon negotiation team. Cylon units withdrawing on all fronts in accordance with terms of the Armistice. Cease all hostilities and maintain current alert status_."

Admiral Sedora silently handed the printout back to Lieutenant Cullen.

"Has Colonel Cole seen this message yet?" asked Kelso simply.

"Affirmative, Commander," replied Lieutenant Cullen.

"Go back up to CIC, _confirm_ this transmission," began Kelso as he continued to watch the seemingly endless parade of litter teams. "When we receive confirmation, have Colonel Cole announce it over the One-MC to the crew."

"Aye, sir."

As the Lieutenant made his way back out of the makeshift morgue, Admiral Sedora stepped up behind the silent Kelso. For his part, _Pacifica_'s Commander simply stood gazing out over the rows of flags.

"So what do you make of that message, Admiral?" muttered Kelso, his voice scratchy, tired.

"By the grace of the gods, maybe the end of this forsaken war," replied Sedora a moment later.

"By the grace of the gods," echoed Kelso weakly as he watched another litter team lower yet another body to the deck.

"At least, we can pray that this is truly the end," continued the Admiral. "No more war, no more death, no more fraking Cylons."

"So say we all, Admiral," replied Kelso, his tone one of subdued melancholy.

Casting one more glance around at the bodies lying on the deck, a hard lump locked in his throat, Kelso let out a long sigh.

"So say we all."


	2. Part 1 - The Twilight Hours

**Forty Years Later  
****Colonial Raptor Three-One-One  
****Near Libran Colony**

As he had for most of the last four decades, Adrian Kelso awoke with a start from the midst of nightmare. His heart racing, his breath quickened, Kelso looked up into the eyes of the startled young Lieutenant leaning over him and quickly realized he had the young officer's wrist locked within his grip.

"Sorry," offered Kelso meekly as he let go.

Rubbing his wrist slightly, apparently not having considered it possible for a man of Kelso's advanced age to be able to muster that much strength, the Lieutenant, Lee if Kelso remembered correctly, took a hesitant step backwards.

"I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean to startle you," he stated simply as he let his wrist drop back down to his side. "We're on final approach now."

"Oh, thank you, Lieutenant Lee, thank you," offered Kelso as he pushed himself more upright in his seat.

As the young officer moved back over to the co-pilot's seat, Kelso tried to suppress his lingering embarrassment as he glanced around the interior of the Raptor. Other than the craft's pilot and co-pilot, he was currently the only one aboard.

To be honest, he felt a little funny about that.

No doubt the two Raptor crewmen found it odd as well. It had been nearly forty years since he'd resigned his commission with the Colonial military, nearly twice as long as either of the two Raptor crewmen had been alive. In fact, Kelso found himself doubting that the two pilots really even knew who he was. They likely thought of him as simply some obscure old veteran, a relic from a war they knew about only from history books, a not-quite dignitary an upper echelon pencil-pusher had saddled them with for the time being.

For his part, Adrian Kelso couldn't help but smile a little at that.

As the Commander of the _Pacifica_, the 'legendary' Battlestar from one of the last terrible engagements of the Cylon War, Adrian Kelso had spent the early years right after the war avoiding handshakes and offers of free drinks in bars from people wishing to 'congratulate' him on his 'bold and decisive leadership'.

Now, many decades later, he was simply the burden of two young pilots who had no real idea who he was.

For his part, Adrian Kelso had grown to prefer that anonymity.

While he knew everyone who'd offered him those drinks or showered him with accolades hadn't meant him any ill-will, what they could not know was that to his mind they were little more than congratulating him for losing over fifteen hundred members of his crew.

And no matter how hard he had at times tried, no amount of ambrosia had ever managed to assuage him of the pain he felt as he remembered the sight of so many flag-draped bodies lined up in rows on the _Pacifica_'s deck.

_Nothing_ could erase that memory.

One thousand five hundred forty men and women; one thousand five hundred forty bloody flags lying on the cold deck.

Following the ratification of the Armistice, the Cylons had disappeared into deep space and into practical obscurity in order to find a home of their own. The citizens of the Twelve Colonies in turn set about rebuilding their shattered homes and lives.

As twelve years of war gave way to peace, the patched up _Pacifica_ was deemed unfit for continued front-line service during the military drawdown and was decommissioned. Not long after, Commander Adrian Kelso resigned his commission from the Colonial military.

As he began what would eventually become a decades-long battle with his own conscience, 'survivor's guilt' the counselors had called it, there were those well-meaning individuals who sought to memorialize the one thing Kelso earnestly wished he could learn to forget.

As the story of _Pacifica_'s harrowing ordeal passed into history, then into veritable mythos, a coalition of citizens and business elites from Libran had petitioned the Colonial government not to scrap the mothballed warship. Saved from the breakers, the grateful citizens of Libran financed the restoration and conversion of the Battlestar _Pacifica_ into a museum and nestled her into a stable orbit around Libran, the planet for which it had nearly been destroyed defending.

Kelso had declined the invitation to participate in the museum's commemoration ceremony, if only because he'd learned beforehand that the reception was being held on the same hangar deck where the makeshift morgue had been.

As the raw wounds healed over time, however, Adrian Kelso had begun attending the annual reunion organized by other _Pacifica_ veterans. Over the years, he had come to rely on those reunions as a means to, if not assuage him of the horrific number of deaths suffered that day, to at least honor them with the only other people in the Colonies who'd be able to understand what he felt; his own former officers and crew from that terrible day.

Years stretched into decades, and the ravages of time took their toll on the survivors as accidents, age and simple, human mortality thinned their numbers.

Colonel Danielle Cole, whose masterful command over the damage control efforts during the battle had saved the ship from succumbing to internal fires, had died in a tragic car accident with a drunk driver.

Major Kyle Abuhda, whose single-handed engagement of a Cylon Basestar had earned him not only a Citation of Valor but also an entire airfield on his native Aerilon named in his honor, died a few years after the war of aggressive lymphoma.

Beyond the veterans themselves, family members, both of the crewmembers who'd fallen during the battle, and those that had passed on in the years since, were often present at the reunions. Nevertheless, Adrian Kelso was becoming keenly aware with each passing year of just how relatively few of his former crew remained.

"We're coming around now sir," called Lieutenant Lee from the co-pilot's seat.

Wrestled from his ruminations, Kelso craned his neck around to look out the canopy as the Raptor completed its turn and lined up for final approach on _Pacifica_'s still-active Starboard flight pod.

"This is Colonial Raptor Three-One-One to Libran Flight Control," began the pilot, Lieutenant Cooper. "Be advised, we are on final approach to BS _Pacifica_, do you copy?"

"_Colonial Raptor Three-One-One, this is Libran Control, we have you on our screen, you are cleared for approach, switch to Tac-Two-One-Niner for local traffic control from BS _Pacifica."

"Copy that Libran Control," replied Cooper simply as Lee switched the frequency settings on the wireless panel.

While the two young pilots occupied themselves with landing the Raptor, Kelso found himself looking out at their destination.

As she had so many decades ago when he'd first taken command of her, the Battlestar _Pacifica_ seemed to gleam as it lay in orbit above the lush blues and greens of Libran.

Kelso never once tried to explain away the apparent contradiction of holding such an unshakeable fondness for the old warship in spite of her also being the locale for his life's single most terrible memories.

As the Raptor lined up for its final approach, Adrian Kelso could see the myriad of civilian liners that were lined up at the exterior docking ports along the Starboard pod. No doubt they were the chartered transports for the other veterans and family members attending the reunion. With a wry grin, Kelso mulled over how seemingly out of place they appeared, the bright hues and livery of the civilian ships standing in stark contrast to the muted military tones of the old _Pacifica_.

With divided attention, Kelso casually noted that the Raptor crew lined up for the approach manually using the _Pacifica_'s own glide-slope indicator, 'the meatball', to follow the proper path onto the deck; most modern Battlestars had automated landing systems these days.

With public sentiment high following the war, the funds collected on Libran had allowed many of the systems aboard the _Pacifica_ to be painstakingly restored when the old warship was converted into a museum. Indeed, the _Pacifica_ had been restored so completely that she was still technically a part of the Colonial Fleet Reserve, though the likelihood of her ever being pressed back into active service had waned over the decades as newer, more powerful warships were placed into service.

As such, the overall maintenance and upkeep of the Battlestar _Pacifica_ was still taken care of by the same Libran consortium that had financed her conversion into a museum. Since she was in most practical respects the responsibility of the Libran government, there would likely be very few actual Colonial military personnel at the reunion, save for the Raptor pilots and the usual Marine Honor Guard routinely in attendance.

After lining up for final approach, the Raptor gently touched down on one of the landing pads in the Starboard flight pod. It took only a few minutes for the landing pad to be lowered into the hangar bay below where a civilian landing crew, themselves likely former Colonial military who'd mustered out, quickly moved and secured the Raptor in one of the maintenance bays.

After Lieutenant Lee and Lieutenant Cooper had powered down and secured the Raptor's systems, the side entry hatch slowly opened. With his knees cracking slightly, Adrian Kelso stood up from his seat, gingerly tested his weight on his now long-since impaired ankle, picked up the small bag he'd brought with him, and stepped into the hatchway and was surprised when a small crowd gathered in the hangar began applauding.

Gently stepping down from the winglet, Kelso saw that most of the people were former crewmembers or family members of former crewmembers, themselves likely having just arrived aboard one of the chartered transports. As he made his way through them, he would pause occasionally for the usual brisk conversation or handshake, but continued to make his way through the hangar deck.

As he continued to make his way through the crowd, Kelso couldn't help but obliquely note that there did indeed appear to be fewer of the old veterans at the gathering this year and began wondering just how many would be found absent when the ceremonial muster call was read.

It was as this thought passed through his mind that Adrian Kelso heard an unmistakable belly laugh as it rang out over the din of the milling attendees. With a not-so-insignificant grin on his face, Adrian quickly cut a path through the crowd towards _Pacifica_'s former, and last, Chief Engineer, Mike Franklin.

Much like Kelso, it had taken a number of years for Franklin to warm to the idea of attending the reunions. No small wonder either; Franklin's engineering teams had been virtually wiped out during the battle, suffering nearly ninety percent casualties.

While Adrian Kelso had seen the aftermath, the bodies lying on the deck, Mike Franklin had been trapped in the middle of the carnage, watching as the men and women he'd worked with, many for years, had breathed their last.

As he finally reached the old engineer, Kelso was bemused to see the once fiercely fit Franklin had nearly completed his decades long transformation into the picture of a dotting grandfather, complete with a balding halo of gray and white hair and rotund belly. With cheeks rosy, likely from a liberal consumption of ambrosia, Franklin was being orbited by two rambunctious boys, twins.

"Commander!" beamed Franklin as he stretched his arms wide and embraced Kelso. "Damned good to see you, sir!"

Caught up in Franklin's robust grip, Kelso barely managed to avoid falling over the two rushing boys.

"Four decades now and you still can't muster yourself to call me anything but 'Commander'," chuckled Kelso as he took a cautious step back from the two rapidly orbiting boys.

"Old habits," shrugged Franklin as he reached out and tickled the sides of one of the two twins.

"I see Joshua and Alexander are as spirited as ever," noted Kelso as the two boys broke orbit and shot off towards a refreshment table.

"Would it be as enjoyable any other way?" sighed Franklin as he eyed the two boys loading a couple plates full of pastries. "Wish the reception caterers had kept the sugared snacks under wraps till later, though."

"And where's Joan?" asked Kelso as he casually glanced about at the surrounding crowd.

"She couldn't make it this year," replied Franklin, the glint fading a bit from his eyes as he gently swirled the remaining ambrosia in his snifter. "She's not doing so well these days; looks like her cancer has come out of remission."

"Damn," muttered Kelso, shaking his head softly. "I'm so sorry to hear that, Mike."

"Oh, hell," replied Franklin, forcing a smile as he downed the last of the ambrosia, then returned a wary eye to the two twins. "She always did hate big crowds anyways. Besides, Gianne flew in from Caprica yesterday to be there and Jamie's with her too, which leaves the twins with me."

"Which I can see is just breaking your heart," added Kelso, trying to lighten the mood a bit.

Franklin let out another, if somewhat forced belly laugh as he continued to watch the two already sugar-energized boys continued to engorge themselves on still more snacks, much to the muted bewilderment of the caterers tending to the refreshment table.

"I think I'll manage," he smiled.

"So how are Gianne and Jamie doing these days?" continued Kelso as he too watched the two boys. "Been a while since I last saw either of them at a reunion."

"Well, life is many things, but never short on drama," muttered Franklin as he looked with mild dismay at his empty glass. "Jamie's in the middle of a very bitter divorce. And Gianne, well, you remember I told you she got engaged to some hot-shot Viper pilot, right?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, a couple weeks ago, Gianne found out she was pregnant," continued Franklin as he snatched another snifter of ambrosia from the tray of a passing server, deftly swapping it out with his empty one. "Well, what a fine example of a Colonial Officer he turned out to be; when she told him, he up and left her."

"Son-of-a-bitch," muttered Kelso, shaking his head slightly.

"Well gods help that little mother-fraker if I ever get my hands on him," growled Franklin as he practically downed the new glass in one gulp. "If he thinks that because his father is the CO of a Battlestar he has the right to skip out on his responsibilities..."

Just then, Franklin's two grandsons, Joshua and Alexander reappeared as though from a sugar-powered FTL jump, instantly yanking the old engineer out of whatever ruminations he was having about what he'd like to do to the man who'd abandoned his pregnant daughter. As a grandfatherly smile re-emerged onto his lips, Franklin reached down and quickly mussed the hair of the two young boys hovering at his side.

"Alexander, Joshua, you two might have been too young to remember the last time you met him, but this is Commander Adrian Kelso," stated Franklin as he gently nudged the two youngsters closer to Kelso. "_Pacifica_ was his ship during the war."

"But gran'pa, I thought you said this was _your_ ship during the war," retorted one of the boys, his expression somewhat confused.

"Oh, it was _his_ ship," smiled Kelso as he carefully knelt down in front of the two boys. "Your grandfather was just nice enough to let me _think_ I was in charge."

With his eightieth birthday just around the corner, and a major hip replacement only a few years in the past, Adrian Kelso strained a bit as he knelt down to look each of the boys directly in the eye, shaking the proffered hands of each of the two young boys.

For their part, both Joshua and Alexander shook his hand with nothing short of awe in their eyes, no doubt the result of having their short lives and imaginations filled with the countless retelling of war stories by their grandfather; the innocent adoration of those whom, he prayed, would never know the true costs and horrors of war.

"So just how old are you two now?" asked Kelso simply as he looked into the two sets of blue eyes tucked beneath unkempt shocks of light brown hair.

"Eight," replied Alexander and Joshua in virtual unisons.

"Eight, gods you two are getting big," sighed Kelso as he looked from one to the other. "The first time your mother brought you aboard the _Pacifica_, I remember she had you both bundled up so tightly in blankets you looked like a pair of Pyramid balls."

"Been a while since they were that small," chuckled Franklin as he stood smiling down at the two youngsters.

"You two looking forward to staying aboard _Pacifica_ tonight?" asked Kelso as he looked from Joshua to Alexander.

"Yes!" they both exclaimed together.

Kelso chuckled.

The reunion committee had managed to convince the museum administrators to allow the attendees of this year's reunion to stay aboard the old warship in some of the old crew quarters. While it allowed them all to avoid the hassle of finding hotel accommodations on the surface, as well as eliminating the cumbersome need to arrange transport to and from the surface each day, Kelso himself was still somewhat dubious of the idea of sleeping in a military bunk tonight.

Joshua and Alexander, however, from the expressions on their face, apparently viewed the chance to stay overnight aboard the _Pacifica_ as the ultimate adventure.

"Well, you two be sure to take it easy on your grandfather," continued Kelso as he looked into the two eager faces. "Why not go take a look at that Raptor over there, I'm sure the pilots would _love_ to show you around the inside."

Without a word further, Alexander and Joshua shot away towards the two lounging Raptor pilots, immediately bombarding the two bewildered officers with questions as the boys themselves scrambled up one of the winglets.

With his knees popping a bit, Kelso stood back up as another server walked by with a tray filled with still more snifters of ambrosia. Taking one of the glasses, Kelso began absently swirling the green liquor.

"Well enough about me, sir," sighed Franklin, pausing for a moment as he noted the distant look on Kelso's face. "How, uh, how have you been holding up since Lena passed?"

"Oh, fine, fine," replied Kelso absently, a forced smile creasing his lips. "Been keeping busy, mostly trying new hobbies and such."

Franklin simply nodded.

Adrian Kelso simply looked at the swirling liquor in his glass.

Adrian's own wife, Lena, had died just after last year's reunion. For this reason above all others, coming to the reunion this year, he knew, would be bittersweet. On the one hand it offered him a measure of the continuity he needed, a bit of normalcy. But, it had been the love and support of his wife that had first spurred him to begin attending the reunions in the first place, and so he keenly missed her now more than ever.

"And what about Sean, how's he doing these days, do you see him much?" asked Franklin, changing the subject as he glanced over at his grandsons crawling around the Raptor.

"Oh, he's doing well, I spoke with him just the other day in fact," replied Kelso simply as he took a small sip from the snifter. "He made Commander a few months ago."

"All those years you spent trying to dissuade him from Colonial service never took did it?" chuckled Franklin as he looked back over at Kelso.

"Well, Mike, I'd like to think I was at least _partially_ successful," replied Kelso, also chuckling slightly as he took a somewhat more generous sip. "After all, my boy did go into engineering instead of command." 

* * *

**Scorpion Fleet Shipyard  
****Capital Warship Assembly Annex**

Commander Sean Kelso stood absently drumming his fingers on the master plot table as he watched the final few crewmembers settle into their stations around CIC. As his gaze continued to wander around CIC, he caught sight of his Executive Officer for this little jaunt, Major Tyra Burke, not so subtly scowling at his drumming fingers from the opposite side of the plot table.

"Sorry," muttered Kelso as he abruptly ceased the drumming.

He'd only first met Major Burke a few days ago when she'd reported for duty with his team at his admittedly diminutive office at the Scorpion Fleet Shipyards. Considering her first impression of him was the image of him scarfing down a rather ample pastry as she walked in the door, Sean Kelso doubted she held him in much regard beyond simple respect of rank. Indeed, the feeble attempt he'd made to wipe the powdered sugar from his hand before offering a handshake likely hadn't helped that first impression either.

But for whatever thoughts Major Trya Burke had of him, and he guessed they weren't too flattering, to Sean Kelso she came across as the consummate poster child a recruiter loved to show off to prospective candidates. A graduate of the prestigious Abry Military Academy, head to toe, Burke seemed to epitomize everything a Colonial Officer was supposed 'to be'. Every uniform crease was razor sharp, immaculate, her hair methodically placed in a regulation, parade-perfect bun, her hawkish eyes staring out past the thin rims of a set of Colonial military issue glasses.

Major Tyra Burke was Regular Fleet, doubtless a true believer in the holy mantra of 'by-the-book', her formidable ambition accumulating an impressive array of Academic and Military accolades; she was by every measure a woman on the fast-track to a command of her own. Doubtless from her perspective, taking a temporary assignment as his XO during this shakedown cruise was merely another stepping stone to command of her own cruiser, or perhaps even a Battlestar.

For these reasons, he knew, Burke could be forgiven for viewing Kelso as little more than a shipyard snipe; a slovenly engineer more suited to the company of engines and spanner wrenches than the rigors of commanding a warship.

The pastry incident probably hadn't done much to dispel this notion either.

For his own part, Sean Kelso had grown accustomed, indeed, comfortable with being the opposite side of the proverbial coin personified by Burke. In his own mind, his casual nature offered him a latitude in command style some Line Officers often seemed to lack; more often than not, they struck Kelso as simply too stuffy.

Major Tyra Burke included.

Through it all, Kelso did indeed view himself first and foremost as an engineer. For the better part of two decades now he'd been occupied with the business of learning the inner workings of most every ship in service with the Colonial Fleet. From the mightiest Battlestars to the most diminutive patrol cutter, he'd walked the decks of every major category of warship in the fleet.

But none of them matched _this_ ship.

She was a Warstar, a new classification of warship designed from the keel up to do exactly what her named implied; fight a war virtually on her own.

By design, she carried an air wing complement half again that of even the newest _Mercury_ Class Battlestars. An extensive barracks facility allowed her to berth an entire Colonial Marine Expeditionary Regiment and their equipment. And barrel-for-barrel, she outgunned most every other ship in the fleet, and then some. With on-board Viper and Raptor manufacturing facilities, a full hospital ward with trauma unit, light mining and refinery capabilities, about the only thing designers seemed to have left out of her design was an amusement park.

For his part, Commander Sean Kelso had quite literally invested the last couple years of his life directing the army of dockyard personnel who'd assembled the ship from the keel up. And while he was loathe to admit as much openly, Sean Kelso had begun to harbor a secret affection for the ship, it felt only right that he was there when she got finally underway for the first time under her own power.

This was to be the new ship's initial shakedown cruise, a proverbial drive around the block as it were to test the ship's systems before her full transition crew came aboard for the formal shakedown and commissioning ceremony in a few months. Most of the personnel currently on board were engineers, computer programmers and technicians, the tops in their fields. It was their job over the coming weeks to monitor every computer screen, bulkhead, bolt and light bulb for any hints that something wasn't working quite the way it was designed to before she was turned over to the fleet. They were hardly more than a skeleton crew, three hundred and seventy-four all told, barely a tenth what her active complement would be.

"Sir," called the gentle voice of Petty Officer Celia Harris from Communications. "Departments heads have reported in; all sections ready to get underway."

"Thank you," replied Kelso simply as a wide grin spread across his lips.

As subdued excitement again began to snowball into baited anticipation, Kelso once again began lightly drumming his fingers on the plot table.

Again, Burke glared past the rim of her glasses at his fingers, though not nearly as blatantly as before.

"Petty Officer Harris, have we received word from the Dock Master?" asked Kelso as he glanced over at the young woman.

"Affirmative, Commander," replied Harris as she gently pressed her headset a bit tighter to her ear. "Dock Master had cleared us for departure; Pilot Raptor is on station and ready to guide us to the outer marker."

Taking one last glance around CIC, Sean Kelso could see more than a few smiles amid the faces around him. They, too, seemed as excited about getting underway as he did.

All except for Burke.

She instead continued to dispassionately peruse the pages attached to the clipboard in her hand.

Letting out a sigh, Kelso mentally shrugged it off.

"Acknowledge signal from Dock Master, Harris," replied Kelso as he continued to stare across at his dour XO. "Well, Major Burke, shall we get this show underway?"

"Aye, sir," snapped Burke as she set the clipboard down, snatched up the handset on her side of the plot table and toggled the switch for the One-MC. "All hands, all decks, all divisions, set Condition Four throughout the ship, make preparations for getting underway."

Picking up the handset on his side of the plot board, Kelso placed it to his ear as the sound of the ship's Chief Engineer came on the line.

"_Tyree here_," stated the voice on the other end.

"What's your status down there, Colin?" asked Kelso casually.

Even before Tyree answered, Kelso glanced up just in time to see Major Burke gently shaking her head at his addressing the Chief Engineer by his first name; she was _definitely_ Regular Fleet.

"_Main reactors are online and nominal, Commander_," replied Tyree over the handset. "_The board is green, but if it's all the same with you, I'd like to stay at the low end of the acceleration curve in case we need to tweak the calibration settings for the tylium injection systems_."

"Understood, Colonel," replied Kelso evenly, this time consciously using Tyree's rank, mindful of his XO's continued scrutiny. "We'll take her out slow and steady."

Placing the handset back into place, Kelso took a deep breath as he looked up to the DRADIS displays arrayed overhead.

For his part, Kelso at least tried to project a veneer of professionalism, after all, maneuvering a vessel of this ship's size in the close quarters of a busy dockyard was no small feat. Any one of a thousand things could go wrong. Nevertheless, it was exciting to him; this would be the first time the Warstar would be operating solely under her own power.

The first tentative steps of his nearly eleven million metric ton baby…

"All decks report setting of Condition-Four, Commander," called Petty Officer Harris a moment later.

"Very well, Officer of the Watch, secure the ship and set the underway watch," replied Kelso as he visually scanned over the ship's status display. "And be sure to note the time and date index in the log."

"Secure the ship and set the underway watch, aye, Commander," replied Lieutenant Cortez, the Tactical Watch Officer, as he picked up a handset at his station and broadcast the order over the One-MC.

"Underway watch has been set, Commander," said Major Burke a few moments later.

"Very good, Major, retract all mooring and umbilical support lines," continued Kelso.

"Retract all mooring and umbilical support lines, aye," repeated Major Burke as she turned and repeated the order to Lieutenant Cortez.

"All moorings and umbilical systems retracted, Commander," called Lieutenant Cortez a few moments later.

"_The ship is one-hundred percent on internal power now, Commander_," stated Colonel Tyree over the One-MC.

"Confirmed, sir, all systems are showing on internal power," confirmed Burke a moment later. "All systems still green for launch."

"Helm, maneuvering thrusters," called Kelso as he fought to keep a smile from his face. "These are her first steps, so let's ease her out gently."

"Helm, maneuvering thrusters ahead, aye," repeated Major Burke dutifully as she glanced over at the Petty Officer manning the helm; Chapman if Kelso remembered correctly.

His eyes locked on the DRADIS screens overhead, Kelso watched as the massive Warstar began to slowly slip from her moorings. After a few moments, during which Kelso was unknowingly holding his breath, the massive vessel was sailing clear of the massive scaffolding that had been her home for the last months of her fitting-out.

"Scorpion Dock Master confirms we have cleared dry dock, Commander," called Petty Officer Harris.

Up in the gallery, a few crewmen clapped lightly.

"Helm, maintain speed until we have cleared the outer marker," replied Kelso as he watched the Pilot Raptor on the DRADIS guiding them through the rigidly defined traffic lanes of the Scorpion Shipyard.

As the massive Warstar maneuvered along the defined departure course, Kelso noted several other vessels, the Battlestar _Pegasus_ and her battlegroup, being led into dock.

With a slight smirk, he half-wondered what the crew of the _Pegasus_ were thinking as they caught sight of the behemoth Warstar slipping past them.

After the approximately twenty minutes it took to reach the outer markers for Scorpion Shipyards, the Pilot Raptor broke off its escort and turned back for the main yard.

"Petty Officer Harris, send my thanks to the Pilot crew and get me Scorpion Operations Control over Colonial Tac-One."

"Aye, Commander."

As he raised the handset to his ear, Kelso watched as the ship glided past the marker buoys at the outer perimeter of the Scorpion Shipyards.

"Ops Control standing by, Commander," stated Harris.

"Scorpion Control, this is Colonial Whiskey-Sierra-One-Zero-Zero-One, we have cleared outer markers, underway watch is set, preparing to commence shakedown trials," grinned Kelso.

"_We copy you've cleared outer markers, Colonial Whiskey-Sierra-One-Zero-Zero-One_," replied the voice on the other end of the wireless transmission.

"We'll see you in a couple weeks, Control," answered Kelso simply, pulling the handset away from his ear as he turned to his XO. "Major Burke, have you plotted the FTL jump out to the fleet testing range?"

"Affirmative, sir, coordinates have been plotted and input into the navigational system," replied Burke as she slid a copy of the jump overlay across the plot board towards Kelso.

"Very well," replied Kelso as he reached down and toggled the switch for the handset. "Colonel Tyree, are we ready for FTL?"

"_I've got no reasons down here to say 'no'_," began Tyree over the line, pausing a moment to bark an order to one of his engineers. "_Everything appears to be operating nominally, but then again, something goes wrong I doubt we'll be around long enough to bitch about it, Commander_."

"Very well, Colonel," chuckled Kelso as he reached down and toggled the switch again for the One-MC. "All hands this is CIC, secure for FTL jump."

As he hung up the handset, Kelso looked back over at Major Burke.

"Start the clock, XO," he said simply.

"Aye, sir," replied Burke, turning to begin calling off the checklist to the various stations around CIC.

As she did so, almost as an afterthought, Kelso decided to exercise a privilege that was his discretion as Commander. To be sure, Colonial Whiskey-Sierra-One-Zero-Zero-One would not be the ship's operational name, but it _was_ technically her official designation until the full formal commissioning ceremony in a few weeks. Nevertheless, the ship _did_ have a formal name already chosen for her, a name that was already emblazoned upon her flight pods; it was the name of a vessel being decommissioned from service, a proud vessel she had been built to replace.

"Harris, do we still have the channel open to Scorpion Ops Control?" asked Kelso simply.

"Affirmative, sir."

Picking the handset back up, he motioned for Harris to once again pipe the transmission over to him.

"Whiskey-Sierra-One-Zero-Zero-One to Scorpion Control."

"_This is Scorpion Control, send your traffic Whiskey-Sierra-One-Zero-Zero-One_."

"Control, please note and relay to Picon Operations Command, at this time we are changing our operational call sign," began Kelso evenly as he casually looked around at the crew in CIC. "Colonial Whiskey-Sierra-One-Zero-Zero-One is now Warstar _Galactica_." 

* * *

**Battlecruiser _Enceladus  
_****Patrol Route 75-A113 Near Leonis Colony**

Colonel Thadius Runel took one step back through the hatch into the Combat Information Center of the Gunstar _Enceladus_.

"Commanding Officer on deck," snapped his XO, Major Alec Kell.

Instantly, everyone around CIC snapped to attention.

"As you were," replied Runel casually.

As the crewmembers resumed their posts, Runel stepped over towards the center plot table, his gaze making a cursory check around the _Enceladus_' nerve center.

No, nothing out of the ordinary…

Taking a deep breath, Runel stopped at the plot table and looked across to Kell. The Major in turn extended a clipboard to him holding a significant stack of reports requiring his signature.

"Are we prepared to get underway, Major?" asked Runel as he pulled a pen from his pocket and began systematically scribbling his signature at the bottom of each page.

"Affirmative, Colonel," replied Major Kell as he rolled a course sheet out onto the plot board. "The _Ikenga_ and _Adroa_ have already formed up with us and all decks report ready to get underway."

"Thank you, Major," replied Runel as he finished the last signature, put the pen back in his pocket, and set the clipboard down onto the plot board.

Taking another deep breath, Runel quickly glanced over the course overlay sheet Major Kell was working on, then up to the DRADIS.

Other than the _Ikenga_ and _Adroa_, the only other vessel in DRADIS range was the Battlestar _Galactica_.

This had been the venerable Battlestar's final deployment as an active vessel with the Colonial Fleet. Now, per orders, _Enceladus_, _Ikenga_ and _Adroa_ were detaching themselves as the escort element for Battlestar Group Seventy-Five to complete the last leg of the patrol while the old warship returned to Caprica for her decommissioning ceremony.

Most of the _Galactica_'s Viper complement and munitions had been offloaded at the Rhapsody Station outpost a few days ago. Once that was done, the Gunstars had maintained their escort of the _Galactica_ until they'd returned to the inner Colonial defense perimeter zone. Commander Adama had briefed Colonel Runel only this morning, issuing his formal order to assume command of what was now Gunstar Group Seventy-Three and complete the last segment of the patrol.

"I have the conn," stated Runel simply as he stood watching the old _Galactica_ continue to move away on DRADIS.

"Colonel has the conn, aye," replied the current watch officer, Lieutenant Martin Thorpe, as he stepped over with the ship's logbook and handed it to Runel.

Taking the logbook, Runel skimmed over the last couple of entries made during the mid-watch; all routine. Satisfied, if unsurprised, Runel again pulled the pen from his pocket and began a new entry.

"Lieutenant Thorpe, dispatch a message to Picon Operations Command that we have detached from Battlestar Group Seventy-Five at this time and are continuing our patrol under designation Gunstar Group Seventy-Three."

"Aye, Colonel," replied the Lieutenant simply as he turned and stepped over towards the Petty Officer at the Comm station.

"Did Commander Adama have anything to say this morning, sir?" asked Major Kell as he watched Runel annotate the designation change in the logbook. "Some parting pearls of wisdom, perhaps?"

"Commander Adama is a man of few words," replied Runel simply as he finished the entry and placed the pen back in his pocket. "However, I get the impression he's still _not_ very happy having the _Galactica_ converted into a museum."

"Better than scrapping her," replied Kell with a slight shrug as he took the logbook from Runel and placed it back in its place below the plot board. "At least this way people from all over the Colonies will have a chance to see the old warhorse, learn her history first-hand."

"That's what they said about _Pacifica_, but outside of her old crew, you can practically count on just your fingers and toes how many people visit her annually," replied Runel somewhat sardonically. "Sometimes I feel like most people in the Colonies have completely forgotten how much those people sacrificed fighting the Cylons."

Even before obtaining his degree in the subject at the Academy, Thadius Runel's had nursed his life-long passion for history by pouring over the mountains of information compiled about the Cylon War. More than just the tactics he learned in his capacity as an officer in the Colonial Fleet, he'd also studied the underappreciated human aspects of the conflict as well, the people who'd fought the battles themselves. Feeding his voracious appetite for the subject with journals, diaries, personal letters entered into various archives for posterity, Runel was often engrossed with an almost voyeuristic insight into how they'd lived and, often painfully, died.

Because of this, Runel frequently felt more than a twinge of annoyance when he thought about the apathy or complacency that seemed to have settled in throughout Colonial society. Most civilians seemed to take for granted the safety and security they enjoyed following the war, forgetting just how much blood had been shed fighting off the Cylon onslaught. Some even seemed to act as if the war hadn't been fought at all. To them, it was merely an abstract, something only discussed in a classroom.

Or a museum…

Thadius Runel had been born after the war, part of the 'baby-boom' generation sired by the veterans returning en masse following the Armistice. Runel's father had been a Colonial Marine infantryman during the war. For as long as Runel could remember, his father had been very tight-lipped about his experiences at the front, rarely ever mentioning what was plainly a very tortuous set of memories. That alone had seemed to speak volumes to Runel about what kind of horrors his old man must have endured fighting the Cylons. Indeed, till the day he died, the elder Runel had never made it through a single night without waking up screaming in a cold sweat, his eyes wild, distant, almost inhuman.

Taking a deep breath, Runel mentally shrugged off his thoughts and annoyances.

Complacent the populace of the Twelve Colonies may be, but he still had a ship to command.

"Major, you have the conn, I'll be in my quarters," stated Runel simply as he turned and made his way out the hatch. "Advise me when we've reached the fourth turn on our route."

"Aye, sir, I have the conn," he heard Major Kell reply as he stepped out of CIC.

Within minutes, Runel stepped back into his quarters, unfastened a few buttons on his uniform tunic, and stepped over towards his personal library. Slowly, he began to run his fingers down along the collection of worn spines jutting out on the shelves; numerous manuals, history texts, books on tactics. Eventually his fingers came to rest on one of the books; a very well worn copy of the Scriptures.

Slowly pulling it from the shelf, Runel held it appraisingly for a moment. Opening the cover, Runel saw, as he had seemingly thousands of times before, a hand scribbled list, names of places; places where some of the wars most vicious and brutal ground campaigns had taken place, places where his father had fought. And under each place, there was another subset list of names and dates; the names of men and women his father had served with, and the date each had died. And beside his father's handwriting, looking like nothing so much as a hallowed stamp of authenticity was a smudged, bloody thumbprint on the edge of the page.

Closing the book, he slowly turned it over and saw a not-so-small hole bored into one corner, its edges fraying; the place where a Cylon round had ripped through it, but thank the gods, not his father. He personally hadn't read it in many years, but for some curious reason, Runel felt almost compelled to read it now.

Stepping over to his personal recliner, Runel sat back, opened the pages, and saw a single line of text that had been highlighted, a set of words that practically every man, woman and child in the Colonies could recite from memory even if they couldn't necessarily grasp their full meaning.

_All this has happened before, and all this will happen again_… 

* * *

**Colonial Fleet Reclamation and Reserve Maintenance Depot  
****Sagittaron Colony**

Lance Corporal Dwayne Bowman watched as the last of the night's stars faded from overhead, the first inklings of sunrise chasing them away with the approaching dawn.

With his breath turning to mist on the chilled morning breeze, Bowman reached down, pulled back his parka sleeve and looked at his watch.

Seven minutes to the hour.

"Damn," he muttered as he rolled the cuff of his sleeve back down.

Stomping his heels, the dull pain of his cold feet aching a bit more as he did so, Bowman slowly paced back and forth, trying to keep the blood flowing against the morning chill.

With the dark of night giving way overhead to the growing light on the horizon, a few birds began to chirp, their few calls echoing through the growth beyond the gate.

"_All units, all units, this is Doghouse; standby for wireless check_."

The sound of the Sergeant of the Guard's voice over the wireless set echoed out loudly through the chilled air, startling a couple birds from the underbrush. Nevertheless, Bowman was glad to hear the SOG; wireless checks were done at the top of every hour. Long, solitary nights on post led one to use them as signposts of time's passage as much as anything.

Eight hours on post…

Eight wireless checks total…

When you heard the eighth wireless check, your relief was on the way…

This was the eighth.

"_Post Five-Echo_?"

"Five-Echo copies," replied Bowman, his fingers fumbling a bit as he keyed the handset.

Bowman listened with detached awareness as the SOG finished the checks with the other posts around the depot. Reaching up, he readjusted the sling for the carbine on his shoulder; like all Marines, it was well ingrained in him that allowing his weapon to fall to the ground was akin to blasphemy against the gods.

As he stood waiting eagerly for his relief; he would hear them coming before he actually saw them; Bowman kicked a stone with his boot, sending it skittering away through the fence into the underbrush beyond. Stepping up to the fence, he looked out along the worn and broken asphalt road beyond.

Three years with the depot's Marine security detachment and he'd never seen anyone on that road, vehicle or pedestrian. It just sat there, unused and crumbling, meandered off into the distance, disappearing into the ever-thickening treeline beyond.

Reaching down, Bowman tugged at the gate's heavy rust-flecked padlock. As it had any of the other tens of dozens of times he'd done so, the lock did not give; it was secured.

Always secured; three years and he'd never seen this gate opened or this lock removed.

He'd asked around once, none of the other Marines in the detachment had ever seen it opened either. A couple went so far as to suggest that the key for lock was long since lost.

Bowman let out a long, bored sigh.

Like so many things in the military, at least to Bowman's eyes, having him out there manning a gate, locked by a lock that had no key, which opened onto a road that no one used just seemed pointless.

Pointless boredom.

All to secure a boneyard full of junk.

Three years…

It's not that he regretted joining the Colonial Marines, gods knew he'd have probably ended up in some low wage, dead end job or even prison had he not, but at this odd hour of the morning, he did wonder just how much greener the proverbial grass actually was on the other side back in civilian life.

He wasn't sure he would get out.

But at moments like this, he wasn't quite sure he wanted to reenlist either.

Men like Bowman had a hell-of-a time making Corporal; Garrison life was just too regimented for his liking sometimes. He preferred time in the field; not as much concern about spit and polish in the field. Trouble was, the Marines at the depot usually only made it to the field once a month, and usually for just three or four days total in order to dust off their basic infantry skills. After that, it was back to the grind of manning the fence-line.

It wasn't a hard job, just tedious.

Muster out or stay in; time would tell, he supposed.

Suddenly his ears perked up. In the distance he could hear the low drone of an engine. Looking up from the worthless lock, Bowman caught sight of the utility vehicle as it trundled along the perimeter fence, kicking up a thin cloud of dust behind it.

Within moments, the vehicle half slid to a stop as the passenger door swung open.

Bowman's heart skipped a beat as the Corporal of the Guard, Corporal Sera Lenore briskly stepped over to him. As she moved, her toned form within the crisp lines of her uniform, Bowman, like so many times before, felt a chill run down his spine. Lenore was by every account the most attractive woman Bowman had ever seen.

She was also the coldest and most sexually repressed woman he had ever known.

"Damned shame," he muttered.

"What was that, Lance Corporal?" snapped Corporal Lenore, scowling a bit as though she could read his mind.

"I said 'everything's the same', Corporal," replied Bowman with a smirk.

"All the same, I'd prefer a _proper_ report, Lance Corporal Bowman," stated Lenore coolly as Bowman's relief, some boot Private that Bowman hadn't bothered to get acquainted with yet, half-jumped from the back of the utility vehicle and made his way over.

With practiced efficiency, Bowman snapped to attention and delivered his brief, uneventful report to Corporal Lenore. Then, trying his best to keep his thoughts at least somewhat professional as he surreptitiously glanced at her firm buttocks, Bowman cleared his carbine, turned the ammo over to his relief, then hustled his way over to the utility vehicle while Corporal Lenore briefly grilled the newly arrived Marine on the post's General Orders.

Pausing long enough to take one more cautious glance over at Corporal Lenore's shapely posterior, Bowman leapt up into the canvas-covered rear compartment, plopped down on the simple bench seat beside some of the other Marines relieved from other posts, and casually stretched his neck.

Within moments, Corporal Lenore was back in the passenger seat and the vehicle started back along the road towards the Guard Shack.

"What's up with Auric?" muttered Bowman as he pointed across to his fellow Marine.

Auric's eyes were closed, his head bobbing back and forth with the gentle, and sometimes not so gentle motion of the vehicle as it moved along the dirt path.

"Fraker can sleep anywhere," replied Sims dismissively. "Hey, did you hear about Jahnigen?"

"I heard some of the ruckus over the wireless, but…" replied Bowman, shaking his head slightly.

"Jahnigen saw the Ghost last night over on Echo-Nine," replied Sims.

"Frak that," snorted Chaffey derisively. "I've stood Echo-Nine too many times to count, and I've never seen any damned Ghost out there. Lazy FNG; he's just trying to get sent out for a psych eval; he sees the shrink, shrink certifies him crazy, he gets pulled from rotation on post, we get fraked having to stand extra shifts. If I were SOG I'd leave him out there for an extra shift to keep him from wasting my time."

"Chaffey, if _you_ were the SOG, the Corps would finally be too screwed up to _ever_ fix," countered Sims.

"Frak you."

Bowman simply shook his head in amusement.

Post Echo-Nine was just another gate along the seemingly endless perimeter fence surrounding the depot, and none too far from his own post. But for some reason, some, not all, but some Marines who stood that post swore there was a phantom lurking around in the bushes out there. Consensus amongst those who'd seen it was that the Ghost was some long-dead Marine from the Cylon War, probably an MIA who'd died unknown, his soul now damned to wander without rest.

Like so many Marines before him, when he'd first heard the stories regarding the Ghost, Bowman had given them little account, believing them to be little more than superstitions, stories passed on by senior Marines in an attempt to spook new arrivals to the boneyard. After all, what better place was there to pass spooky ghost stories than a boneyard full of junk?

That's what he used to believe.

A little over a year ago, however, Bowman had been posted to Echo-Nine and come face-to-face with the Ghost himself.

As usual, around zero-dark-thirty, that proverbial dead time midway through a watch, Bowman had been fiddling with the lock on the gate when he realized _something_ was watching him from the underbrush just beyond the fence-line.

Speechless, Bowman had watched as an older man decked head-to-toe in an old Cylon War-era Colonial Marine combat uniform had emerged from the forest barely twenty meters away. His heart pounding, Bowman had watched as the Ghost stood there for a few silent moments, seemed to measure him up, and then disappeared back into the forest.

He'd almost reported the incident; hell, he had drawn down on the figure before he'd disappeared, but Bowman had decided against it; no need wasting good weekend liberty time filing a report he was certain would be stored away and forgotten just as quickly.

He'd seen the Ghost a couple more times after that, each time from a distance, but clear enough that he knew it wasn't simply his mind playing tricks on him. In any event, Bowman didn't see any real threat, whoever the Ghost really was he seemed content to remain on the other side of the fence.

So as he sat there in the back of the utility vehicle, Bowman simply shook his head in silence as Chaffey and Sims continued to trade barbs regarding the Ghost; it wasn't the first time Chaffey had been talking out his ass about something he didn't have a damned clue about.

As far as Bowman was concerned, all that mattered right now was getting back to the barracks, turning in his weapon, then getting some chow and some rack time.

With any luck, he'd have a dream or two about what he'd love to do with a more amicable Corporal Sera Lenore…

* * *

The morning sun had just barely begun to peak over the horizon, casting a soft orange light across the seemingly endless rows of obsolete Viper hulks in the boneyard below.

Raising the coffee cup to his lips, Paul Bess took a sip as he watched the utility vehicle bringing the Marines back in from the perimeter posts passed through the yard below. As the vehicle continued along the dirt road towards the Guard Shack, Bess took another sip. Behind him, the gaggle of bodies that was his supervisory team continued to meander their way into the briefing room.

While they continued to file in, Bess continued to watch the sunrise.

He liked the sunrise…

Then, with a touch of resigned finality, Bess swallowed the last of the coffee and tossed the empty cup into the trashcan. Picking up a clipboard, Bess stepped over towards the worn podium as the last of his team settled into their seats.

As he had so often done since being appointed director of the facility nearly two decades ago now, Bess let out a long sigh as he looked down at the lengthy task list affixed to the clipboard.

After retiring from the Colonial Fleet as a Commander, Bess could have virtually walked into any number of corporate or private sector management jobs. He'd accepted this particular job at the depot, however, for that one factor that drives people to take a job; money.

The position was government contract work; generous pay and great benefits that combined with his Fleet retirement pension offered him a very comfortable life. And it wasn't a bad job really, just tedious at times. The Colonial Fleet Reclamation and Reserve Maintenance Depot was to Bess's mind little more than a fancy bureaucratic name for an all-purpose junkyard.

Located in perhaps the most remote possible location on Sagittaron, the hundreds of acres of land had grown from a backwater ammo staging ground during the war into the single greatest collection of obsolete, worn, or hopelessly wrecked fighters and other craft in the entire Colonies. In addition to the surface facility, there was an orbital annex sitting in geo-sync position above that likewise processed heavier capital ships destined for mothballs, they too having outlived their usefulness.

More than once it made Bess wonder if it was the gods' subtle, cynical way of hinting that he too had perhaps outlived _his_ usefulness.

Occasionally, the depot performed salvage operations, scavenging spare parts or equipment from decommissioned ships that might still be of use in an active vessel, and sometimes, though less often, it would actually be a place to obtain still-serviceable ships at a fraction of the cost of procuring new-built craft. A lot of the time, those requests came in from local Colonial governments, typically for reconditioning old Raptors for use as local rescue and disaster response craft.

But more often than not, once something found its way to his boneyard, its fate was to simply rust in peace.

Most of the twenty-four-hundred personnel working the boneyard were, like him, former Colonial Fleet; old retirees also looking to pad out their pensions, younger workers who'd mustered out at the end of their contracts lured by promises of good pay.

Since the facility was under the primary care of civil workers, very few active Colonial military were assigned to the depot, most of them belonging to the Marine detachment that guarded the boneyard from privateers anxious to steal military equipment, even old equipment, for sale on the black market.

And in spite of its remote location, a small community had grown up outside the perimeter, mostly small shops that catered to the personnel who worked at the depot and their families.

But even in the age of inter-colonial travel, it could feel like an isolated place to live…

As his supervisors continued to mill about, idle conversations passing about regarding the latest reality-show nonsense or pyramid playoff match, Bess glanced down at his watch then up at the vintage clock hanging at the rear of the conference room.

"Okay, we've got a long day and an equally long list to deal with people, so let's get started," began Bess as he gently tapped the clipboard against the side of the podium, cleared his throat, then glanced down at the first item on his list. "Kip, how goes the work on those refurbed Raptors the fleet asked for?"

"We're just about finished with most of them," replied Hal 'Kip' Kipinger evenly as he flipped through a few pages on his own clipboard. "There were a few parts we weren't able to salvage out of the other ships, but the machine shop was able to mill out most of what we couldn't get, so we should have all eighty ready for turn-over this evening, tomorrow morning at the latest."

"Good to hear," replied Bess simply as he made a simple mark next to the item. "Janice, are you and your people ready to start processing in those old Mark Six's we got last week?"

"We're having a bit of trouble clearing space for them in the boneyard," replied Janice Aster as she fumbled with the loose notes she pulled from a trouser cargo pocket. "We've been moving equipment around over in the South Lot, but there are forty of them to park, it's going to be tight."

"Well, I need you to get going on that," sighed Bess, suddenly wishing he had another cup of coffee. "Coleman and his people are bitchin' that they're taking up too much space over at the airfield."

"I can't move them where I don't have space, chief," shrugged Aster. "Boneyard is kinda full these days."

"Go ahead and coordinate with Kip's people, see if you can move some of them over to the slots where he pulled those Raptors for refit," stated Bess evenly.

"Understood."

"JP, this next item is for you and your people," continued Bess as he glanced up from the clipboard. "The _Proteus_ arrived on station last night for mothballing."

"This going to be a standard decom or are there any special circumstances I should let my teams know about?" asked Jaren Pelt, simply 'JP' to most everyone who knew him.

"None that we've been made aware of," replied Bess as he glanced over to Pelt. "According to the tower, the breaking crew is still aboard, point of contact is going to be a Major Tyle."

"Any idea where they want us to start on this one?" asked JP as he finished jotting down a few notes on his pad. "Mark and his teams are still using the heavy docks in orbit."

"Mark, how 'bout it, are your people close to being done?" asked Bess.

"I'm not going to lie to you boss, we're having a few problems," replied Mark Shipman as he gently dipped the end of his pastry in a cup of coffee. "FTL systems are up and running on _Limnos_ and _Kilkis_, but _Asterica_ is proving to be a bitch."

"What's the hold-up?"

"Whatever genius pulled her FTL components at her decom hard-welded her access panels back into place when they were done," shrugged Shipman, pausing to take a bite off the coffee saturated end of his pastry. "Breaking the welds without compromising structural integrity has been tricky."

"Seems like a bit much considering all three are going to be used as targets," muttered Bess as he watched Shipman take another bite from the pastry.

"Not my call, boss," replied Shipman as he absently wiped the corner of his mouth on a sleeve. "Fleet SOP says they have to have the FTL's online so they could jump them out to the range."

"Any idea when you'll have the components installed?" sighed Bess.

"We _should_ be done before the day is out, but don't hold me to that," replied Shipman as he finished off his pastry.

"Well, do what you can," muttered Bess, shaking his head slightly as he made a few circles around that line item. "I guess we can hold off pulling the cannon mounts from _Proteus_ till next week."

"I'll have my people concentrate on the internal survey, then," replied JP as he scribbled off a few more notes.

Bess continued on down the list until each item had a neat mark next to it. Soon thereafter, his supervisors left to gather their teams together for the day ahead. For his part, Bess grabbed a new cup of coffee and went back to his office.

By the time he stepped back into his office, the fully risen sun shone brightly though his window. Stepping over to his simple desk, Bess lightly tossed the clipboard down with a clatter and looked out at the yard at the decrepit row of relatively ancient Mark One Vipers rusting away below.

Just beyond them, Bess watched as several dozen workers were moving several Mark Two's into a nearby machine shop. Unlike the neglected Mark Ones immediately below, the Mark Twos being moved were destined for a more fitting retirement. Nostalgia over the fortieth anniversary of the end of the Cylon War had created a demand from several sources for restored Mark Twos.

One full squadron had already been restored and shipped to the Battlestar _Galactica_ as part of her conversion into a museum. Restoration on a second full squadron was already complete, destined to augment the planned exhibit once the formal decommissioning of the old Battlestar was complete. Another squadron's worth of Mark Two's were nearly finished as well, though most of these were going to be auctioned off to rich private collectors and weekend pleasure-pilots throughout the Colonies.

Looking away from the boneyard, Bess's gaze settled back upon his clipboard. Though he would never have admitted it, one line item on that list was gnawing at him. Prior to his retirement, he'd served as the last Commanding Officer of the Battlestar _Asterica_, one of the ships being prepared in orbit by Mark Shipman's team for use as a target.

A target.

The venerable Battlestar, one of the few to survive the war intact, was to end her existence as cannon fodder out at the Colonial Fleet Capital Vessel Proving Grounds. _Pacifica_ had become a museum, _Galactica_ was being turned into a museum, but _Asterica_, having survived more than her own fair share of fierce engagements with the Cylons was now instead to be felled by Colonial weapons.

To be sure, other old hulls had met with similar fates during his tenure as director of the Sagittaron depot. One, the old _Atlantia_, had even been deliberately deorbited and sunk as an artificial reef on Picon. But this would be the first time Paul Bess would be turning over one of _his_ old commands to such a fate.

It just didn't _feel_ right to him.

Letting out a long sigh, Bess dropped down into his chair, picked up the clipboard, then methodically scribbled over _Asterica_'s name in mild disgust. 

* * *

**Battlestar _Pacifica_ Museum  
****Libran Colony Orbit**

Adrian Kelso tried in vain to stretch the kinks from his back. As he'd feared it would, last night's 'nostalgic stay' in the austere military bunk had left his back feeling as though a mule had kicked him.

As it turned out, it was just the first factor that led Kelso to again ponder his bemused doubts about the fanciful decision to have all the attendees stay aboard ship.

The second came when he went to take a shower and shave.

As he came upon the long line of people waiting in the corridor, it was clear there was a significant amount of confusion regarding the ad hoc manner by which heads were designated for use by women, and which ones were to be used by the men. On an operational Battlestar, there was no such distinction; everything was unisex.

Next came some almost laughable attempts by individuals to share the basic sinks and showers, somewhat difficult concepts for the myriad of unindoctrinated civilians used to 'privacy' and 'personal space'.

And then there was the grumbling lines waiting to use the commodes…

The only real civility seemed to be the unspoken acceptance by all that children who needed to go went straight to the front of the line.

In the end, Kelso was able to navigate his way through the bemusing chaos and soon found his way onto the Port hangar bay where yet another line of people had begun making their way through the breakfast buffet set up on the aft end of the bay. Eyeing the line for a moment, Kelso instead opted to settle for a simple cup of coffee.

Cup in hand, Adrian Kelso then began making his way towards the forward end of the hangar deck. Taking a sip from his cup, Kelso couldn't help but note that even now, decades after it had last been used as a service space for Vipers and Raptors, the unmistakable scent of lubricants and tylium fuel still clung to the air, defying even the wafting scents emanating from the buffet to fully dispel it.

As he continued along at his meandering pace, truly little more than trying to stretch the stiffness from his legs, Adrian Kelso was amused to see the fully rejuvenated Joshua and Alexander soon racing past him as they made a headlong charge towards the Viper display up ahead.

With one last attempt to stretch the ache from his back, his efforts at last being met with a decidedly satisfying crack, Kelso too began making his way towards the display.

The first ship he came to was an old Mark One Viper, the venerable fighter that had served the fledgling Colonial Fleet during the desperate, early days of the Cylon War. Next to it sat a Mark Two prototype, differing from the production Mark Two in having more angular lines and larger, less dynamic winglets. Next came a production Mark Two, the type that had served the _Pacifica_ and so many other Battlestars so well during the later stages of the war.

And so the line continued, showing the evolution of the Viper series; a Mark Three, the first post-war variant; a more heavily armored Mark Four; a Mark Five, the first variant to adopt the darker gray 'space superiority' color scheme; a Mark Six, a controversial variant in that it was the first to readopt fly-by-wire technology; and finally a modern Mark Seven model. At least, it was a mock-up of a modern Mark Seven, complete with simulator-grade controls.

Several other fighters also fleshed out the display, failed prototypes developed during the war and even a few pre-Cylon War craft, virtual antiques from before unification. There was even a captured Cylon Raider, its circular 'flying-wing' arrangement standing in stark contrast to the angular Colonial designs.

Looking about, Kelso saw that more and more people had likewise begun to make their way along the display, more than a few rubbing amply filled bellies as they went. For their part, Joshua and Alexander had jumped up into a two-seat trainer variant Viper and were occupying themselves with gleefully shooting imaginary Cylons from a pretend sky.

Perhaps even more amusing, Kelso noted that the two Raptor pilots who'd shuttled him aboard, Lieutenants Lee and Cooper, seemed to be as equally enthralled with the Mark Seven simulator.

_Gods, I am old_, thought Kelso, _they're all just children to me_.

With a slight smirk, Kelso continued on past the fighter display, taking the occasional sip from his coffee, his mind somewhat wandering.

By the time he reached the far end of the hangar bay, his cup was empty, but his mind was most decidedly focused on the large slabs of marble that had been erected at this end of the hangar deck.

Stretching from the deck to the ceiling, the highly polished surface gleamed in the soft spotlights, standing in stark contrast to the utilitarian bulkheads surrounding it, visually dominating the space. Etched into the surface, inlaid with gold, were one thousand five hundred and forty individual names.

It was a memorial.

The Wall of Remembrance.

No matter how many times he had stood before it, the sight of each of those names, the names of the crewmembers he'd lost, never ceased to humble him. In many respects, Kelso hoped he never stopped feeling that humility.

Lost in his own thoughts, Kelso slowly stepped over to one side of the display, off into the corner of one of the old Viper service bays. Kneeling down, Kelso's eyes focused in on a stain on the bulkhead he himself had discovered only a few years before.

A bloodstain, smudged, but nevertheless recognizably a handprint.

This was where the temporary morgue had been.

He had never forgotten, never _could_ forget, the image of so many bodies lying still on the deck. And as regal as it was, the marble wall had never struck him so fully as when he'd first seen that lingering blood stain on the bulkhead.

Forty years now, and the stain remained.

His knees cracking, Kelso stood back up and turned around, only to find that a young woman in a Colonial uniform was watching him.

Half feeling as though he'd been caught doing something he wasn't supposed to, Kelso casually stepped back out of the alcove.

For her part, the woman looked back up at the large marble memorial for a moment, then sheepishly stepped towards him.

"Permission to speak with the Commander?" she asked cautiously.

Such formality, so young, she must have only recently graduated from the Academy.

For a moment, Kelso simply looked at her.

Although he was sure he didn't know her, Adrian Kelso was nevertheless struck by the fact that there was still something intangibly familiar about the young woman.

"You don't need my permission to speak, Ensign," grinned Kelso as he stepped a little closer.

"I'm not interrupting anything, am I, sir?" she asked.

"No," replied Kelso evenly, glancing back at the alcove. "Just have a _lot_ of memories here. How can I help you?"

"I just wanted to meet you, sir," she replied.

"Meet me, why?" he asked, hoping like hell he sounded more modest than sarcastic.

"Because you're a legend, sir," she replied flatly.

"A dubious description, at best," countered Kelso as he looked back over at the gleaming marble. "What's your name, Ensign?"

"Ensign Jinara Cole, Commander," she answered dutifully.

Kelso's eyes instantly snapped back to the young officer.

"Cole?" he muttered. "As in Dani Cole?"

The young woman simply nodded.

Staring at her for a moment, Kelso grinned a bit.

"You're related to Danielle Cole?"

"My grandmother, yes, sir," she replied.

Slowly, Kelso reached his hand out towards the granddaughter of his former Executive Officer. After the war, Adrian Kelso had regrettably lost touch with his old XO. Indeed, Kelso hadn't even learned about her death until years after the fact. But at that moment, Adrian Kelso found it comforting to know that Danielle Cole had not only had a child after the war, but that she now had a granddaughter.

"It's an honor to meet _you_, Ensign," smiled Kelso as the young woman took hold of his hand.

As he did so, the young woman's resemblance to his old XO now seemed as obvious to Kelso as the nose on his own face, especially her eyes.

"I could never have asked for a better XO than Danielle Cole," continued Kelso. "She was a good woman, a damned good friend."

"Thank you, sir."

"I don't remember seeing you at the reception last night, Ensign," stated Kelso evenly.

"I came aboard this morning with the Marine Honor Guard," replied Ensign Cole, a slight smile creeping onto her face. "I have more than enough opportunities to sleep on military bunks already."

"Part of me wishes I'd passed on the opportunity myself," groaned Kelso slightly as he again tried to stretch the lingering ache from his back. "Been nearly forty years for me, and I'm paying for it this morning."

"You didn't stay in your old quarters, sir?"

"No, not this time," replied Kelso simply. "So what brings you aboard this morning, Ensign?"

"I've never been able to attend the reunions before," began Ensign Cole as she glanced over at the marble wall. "Thought I'd better before…"

"Before all us old-timers died off?" interjected Kelso, half-chuckling.

Ensign Cole's cheeks flushed a bit.

"We _are_ getting fewer," noted Kelso, turning away to look off along the row of old Vipers, again catching sight of Joshua and Alexander.

Looking back over at Ensign Cole, Kelso again found himself looking into those hauntingly familiar eyes. Slowly, Kelso felt a smile spread across his lips.

"Ensign, I have something I'd like to show you," he said simply as he motioned the young officer to follow him.

* * *

For the first time in the better part of four decades, Adrian Kelso undogged the hatch leading into _Pacifica_'s CIC.

Stepping in through the hatch, Kelso looked around the empty CIC and felt a chill go down his spine.

It was eerie, to be stepping into a space that on even the most visceral level he knew so well, having his mind almost expect to see a bustling work space, and yet find every station empty, powered down save for a few key stations needed to help maintain the ship's orbit.

Felt like a tomb…

Stepping somewhat absently over towards the center plot table, Kelso reached out and ran his fingers along the edge of the console and felt the rough edges where decades before his own fingernails had scratched through the enamel; torn free while he'd held on desperately against a barrage of Cylon missiles.

Glancing back over his shoulder, Kelso saw that Ensign Cole was still standing in the entryway, visibly hesitant to step inside.

Motioning with his hand for the young woman to join him, Kelso stepped around to the far side of the plot table. As Ensign Cole stepped up to the place just occupied by Adrian, Kelso could see the latent awe in her expression.

Just like a child…

"For more engagements than I'd ever care to remember, your grandmother stood in almost that _exact_ same spot," stated Kelso simply.

"Are we supposed to be in here, sir?"

"I'd like to think I've earned the right to go anywhere I damned well like aboard this ship, Ensign," chuckled Kelso as he looked around the empty CIC.

Motioning with his hand for her to follow, Kelso guided Cole over towards the Damage Control station.

"But it was _here_, right here, that your grandmother saved this ship," began Kelso as the young Ensign stepped up to the panel. "There's not a person aboard this ship right now, or for that matter on the surface of Libran, myself included, that doesn't owe Dani Cole their very life."

The young officer reached up and absently ran her fingers through the thin layer of dust on the console surface.

"Her efforts commanding the damage control teams kept this ship in the fight," continued Kelso evenly. "It's because of _her_ leadership, her fortitude and determination, not mine, that we're all still alive."

Watching the young woman's face, her reaction to what he was telling her, Kelso suddenly realized that Ensign Jinara Cole wasn't old enough to have ever actually known her grandmother; Dani Cole had been killed by that drunk driver at least a decade before she'd been born.

"I wish I could have known her," she said wistfully, subtle tears welling in her eyes. "Thank you for bringing me up here, sir."

As he watched Ensign Cole continue look the panel over, Kelso couldn't help but smile.

So impeccable in character, so indomitable in spirit was Dani Cole, it was heartening to Kelso to know that her legacy continued in the person of this young woman before him. 

* * *

**Warstar _Galactica  
_****_C_****olonial Fleet Capital Vessel Proving Grounds  
****One Light-Day from Caprica**

"This is a _big_ problem, Major," stated Commander Sean Kelso flatly as he scowled at the report before him.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose for a moment, Kelso looked up from the printout and across the plot table at Major Malcolm Macedo, the Computer Operations Specialist assigned to the shakedown team.

"I wouldn't have brought it to your attention if it wasn't, Commander," replied Macedo evenly as he adjusted his thin rimmed glasses.

Macedo had only recently been transferred to Kelso's team from the Research and Development cadre at the Ministry of Defense. That alone spoke volumes to Kelso about the man's competency and technical expertise; you effectively needed to be a certified genius to work at R&D.

And in no uncertain terms, Kelso's new resident computer genius was telling him that he was stumped.

"Alright, let's just go over this one piece at a time so I understand perfectly," sighed Kelso as he absently scratched at his forehead. "You're telling me that the Command Navigation Program isn't functioning properly with the new systems?"

"Not exactly, sir," replied Macedo as he opened a small binder and began extracting numerous printouts. "When I was assigned to _Galactica_'s shakedown team, I had a colleague of mine over at the Ministry of Defense send me over a beta-test copy of a new software analysis program under development."

Taking the proffered sheets in hand, Kelso casually glanced over them as Macedo continued.

"The new program is designed to scan and monitor active lines of code for any errors or security anomalies that could compromise systems to an outside intruder, Cylon or otherwise."

"And what exactly did you find?" asked Major Burke flatly as Kelso handed her the data sheets.

"When we accessed the Command Navigation Program for the FTL jump from Scorpion Shipyards, the analysis software flagged several ancillary algorithms imbedded in the CNP."

"Are you saying the copy of the CNP we have aboard is compromised?" asked Major Burke.

"Possibly," replied Macedo hesitantly. "Keep in mind I've only begun my preliminary analysis, Major Burke."

"If you had to make a _guess_, Major, what do the errors you've detected mean?" asked Kelso pointedly.

"If I _had_ to guess, Commander, it looks as though the CNP is attempting to bypass the firewalls and access other non-navigation or propulsion related systems on the ship's network."

"Why hasn't this problem been detected before now?" asked Major Burke. "The CNP has been in active use throughout the fleet for nearly a year now."

"As far as I can tell most of the algorithms in question remain dormant under normal operational conditions," answered Macedo evenly.

"Is it possible _your_ program is the cause of the problem and _not_ the CNP?" sighed Kelso as he gently gathered the printouts back into a single pile.

"_Possible_, yes, but I must add, highly improbable, Commander," replied Macedo with a grin. "Again, if I had to make a guess, I'd say that the analysis program is what's prompting them into activity, but these dormant algorithms are still acting as they were intended to by attempting to bypass security and access the other systems."

To say the least, Sean Kelso didn't like that answer.

"What do you suggest we do, Major?" asked Kelso evenly.

"In the short term, I think we should take the CNP offline until my team has a better idea what these algorithms are really designed to do," replied Macedo without skipping a beat.

"Major, without the CNP we're not going to be able to perform any more FTL jumps," stated Kelso flatly. "Fleet Headquarters is not going to be very pleased with us if we cut this shakedown short because of a _software_ problem."

"Granted, Commander, but I doubt they'd like it very much more if the ship's computer systems were vulnerable to an outside intrusion either," replied Macedo flatly. "It could be nothing, or it could provide an enemy with a way of bypassing all security lockouts and shut this ship down without firing a shot; we need to be certain either way."

Sean Kelso paused, gently tapping his fingers on the plot table as he looked across at Macedo.

"Point taken," sighed Kelso as he handed the printouts back to Macedo. "Okay, we'll go ahead and disable the CNP, and as a protective measure, go ahead and have your people shutdown the ship-wide network as well, put all systems on stand-alone until you have a better handle on this problem."

"Understood, sir," replied Macedo, his tone a bit relieved as he took the sheets back and slid them into their folder.

"Should we advise Picon Headquarters about the possible delay in our testing schedule, Commander?" asked Major Burke.

Kelso continued to drum his fingers on the plot table for a moment, mulling over Burke's suggestion.

"For the time being, no," replied Kelso simply. "We're here to make sure this ship's systems are fully operational when they commission her. A problem like this is the reason we're out here. Besides, I'd like to have a better idea of just what we're dealing with before I ruffle any important feathers back at Headquarters."

"Understood, Commander."

"Major Macedo, get your team together, this is your priority for the time being," continued Kelso. "Have your people pour over every line of code if you have to, but find out what the problem is and get the CNP back up and running. Until then, we'll keep the computers off the network and hold off loading the CNP into the main memory storage."

"Aye, sir."

With that, Major Macedo collected up all the paperwork he'd brought up and walked out of the CIC hatchway.

After Macedo had gone, Kelso looked back over to a visibly disapproving Major Burke.

"Problem, Major?"

"Command is not going to be very happy with a delay in our schedule, Commander," she stated evenly. "Especially if we have no firm explanation as to why we're delaying it in the first place."

Kelso stifled a chuckle.

"I'm sure Command would be equally displeased if their newest warship wasn't able to perform a simple FTL jump because the CNP wasn't functioning properly," replied Kelso as he absently scratched an itch behind his ear. "We've got a full docket of systems tests to perform, we'll just shuffle the schedule a bit, give Macedo and his people time to work."

"Very well, Commander," she replied dutifully as she retrieved the clipboard with the testing schedule and began making her way across CIC.

As he watched Burke move away, Sean Kelso again reached up to scratch at the persistent itch behind his ear. 

* * *

**Battlecruiser _Enceladus  
_****Patrol Route 75-A113  
****Near Libran Colony**

"_Colonel Runel, please contact CIC; Colonel Runel, please contact CIC_."

His every perception groggy, Colonel Thadius Runel slowly opened his eyes as he swam back to consciousness.

Somewhere in the midst of reading his father's worn copy of the Scriptures, Runel realized he'd dozed off. Looking over at the clock on the wall, he realized he'd slept through most of the first watch.

After placing the Scriptures back onto the shelf, Runel stepped over to his deck, rubbed his eyes for a moment, then snatched up the handset hanging on the bulkhead and toggled the switch for CIC.

"Runel, here," he said simply as he lifted the handset to his ear.

"_Lieutenant Thorpe, sir, sorry to bother you_," began the voice on the other end.

"No bother, Lieutenant, what do you have?" stated Runel as he reached over and turned on the small coffee brewer on his desk.

"_We've just received a dispatch from Fleet Headquarters, Colonel, they're requesting that we break off from our patrol route and proceed to Armistice Station_."

"Did they specify why, Lieutenant?"

"_Apparently the Colonial Representative is overdue for return from Armistice Station, sir, they want us to head out there to see if his shuttle is having mechanical difficulties_."

As the scent of the brewing coffee began to waft up from the small pot, Runel rubbed the slight stubble forming on his chin.

"Didn't we receive something in last nights' dispatch about the representative?"

"_Yes, sir, he's apparently been overdue close to a full day now_."

Taking a deep breath, Runel half-wished the coffee was brewing a bit faster.

Sending three full Gunstars out of their assigned patrol route seemed a bit like overkill, especially if it turned out that the Colonial Representative's shuttle was simply experiencing engine trouble.

Still…

It was right on the demarcation line for Cylon territory.

"Very well, Lieutenant, acknowledge the order and advise _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_ of the change," stated Runel as he glanced down as the rapidly filling coffee pot. "Start plotting the jump out to Armistice Station; I'll be in CIC in fifteen minutes."

"_Aye, sir_."

* * *

Clean-shaven, fresh uniform on, freshly brewed cup of coffee in hand, Colonel Runel strode in through the entry hatch to CIC.

"Commanding Officer on deck," called Major Kell as Runel stepped through the hatchway.

"Lieutenant Thorpe, did you advise _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_ of our change in orders?"

"Affirmative, Colonel, both ships are standing by."

"Very good."

Runel stepped up to the plot board opposite Major Kell. Picking up the handset on the side of the console, Runel toggled the switch to main engineering.

"_Colonel Lidell, here_."

"Lidell, what's the status on our FTL systems?"

"_All FTL systems are fully operational, Colonel_," replied Lidell simply. "_However, keep in mind the CNP is currently off the grid_."

"Your team still working on the network upgrades?" asked Runel as he took a sip from his coffee.

"_Affirmative_," replied Lidell flatly. "_I don't suppose there's any way to hold off making a jump till the network is back up_?"

"Command says go, we go," countered Runel as he motioned for his XO to join him.

"_Aye, Colonel_."

Placing the handset back in its place, Runel looked up into the subtly inquisitive face of Major Kell.

"How long has it been since you calculated a jump by hand?" asked Runel flatly.

"It's been a while," sighed Kell somewhat apprehensively.

"Well, just make sure you double check your calculations then," said Runel with the slightest of smirks.

"Aye, Colonel."

As Major Kell stepped away to begin the jump calculations, Runel took a deep breath.

FTL jumps were a tricky operation, and although he had nothing but the utmost confidence in his officers and crew, he wasn't quite sure how he felt about performing the complicated equations by hand without the aid of the sophisticated CNP, especially that close to the Cylon border.

If they advised Headquarters that their CNP was down, another group could be assigned to check out Armistice Station. However, Runel had never been the type to simply pass an assignment off to someone else.

"Alright people, listen up," began Runel as he looked around at the crewmembers in CIC. "Fleet wants us to make a jump to Armistice Station. Now as you know this is right on the dividing line between our territory and that of the Cylons. Now, we don't know why the Colonial Rep is overdue, it may be nothing more than engine trouble, but, I'm not about to risk this battle group by making an assumption."

Pausing, Runel let out a long sigh.

"So, just in case, we'll be executing a Combat Jump," continued Runel as he looked back over at his Tac Ops Officer. "Lieutenant Thorpe, sound Action Stations."

"Aye, Colonel," replied Thorpe dutifully.

As the ship-wide alarm sounded, Runel looked up at the descending DRADIS display.

"All decks, all divisions report Action Stations manned and ready, Colonel," called Lieutenant Thorpe a few moments later. "_Adroa_ and _Ikenga_ report ready at Action Stations as well, sir."

"Very well. Major Kell, how are we with those jump calculations?"

"Calculations complete and input, Colonel. All systems show Green. FTL drives are spun and ready."

"Very well. Lieutenant Thorpe, coordinate with the _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_, just in case the Colonial Rep is having more than engine trouble, I don't want to be separated from our only support."

"Aye, sir."

Runel took a deep breath.

"Execute jump, Major Kell." 

* * *

**Battlestar _Pacifica_ Museum  
****Libran Colony Orbit**

By the time Adrian Kelso and Ensign Jinara Cole returned to the Port flight pod, the reunion had moved on to a full audio-visual presentation put on by the museum administrators. With the overhead lights dimmed, most of the assemblage was engrossed with a video reenactment of _Pacifica_'s last and most harrowing battle with the Cylons.

As he and Cole made their way through the crowd, Adrian Kelso paid only the most peripheral attention to the presentation, itself little more than an academic account of what had taken place. For his own part, Kelso knew no presentation could ever fully convey what it had been like to live through that day.

As he finally made his way over to Mike Franklin, Kelso could see by the old engineer's face that like him, Franklin was little more than tolerating the relatively sterile account of the battle. Franklin's two grandsons, however, were paying rapt attention to presentation, their youthful minds in awe as the latest in computer graphics illustrated the movements of the ships on the screen.

Glancing back over at Ensign Cole, Kelso saw that she too was as equally engrossed in the presentation.

Kelso couldn't help but envy such innocence…

When the presentation ended, the lights came back up, and the museum curator, Eli Straten, stepped up to the podium.

It was then that Kelso began to feel a growing sense of subtle dread.

He knew from past reunions that it was only a matter of minutes now before Straten would call Kelso up to the podium to speak to the assemblage.

Trouble was that after so many years, so many reunions, Kelso felt like he'd run out of things to say.

Nevertheless, when the moment came, Kelso made his way through the crowd amid applause to the podium. With a gracious handshake, Straten turned the podium over to the former Commander.

As the applause died down, Kelso stood silently at the podium, looking out into the sea of faces. Even after so many years, so many reunions, Kelso felt uneasy about speaking, uncertain as to what to say.

"Today, we gather here to remember our fallen..."

Even as the words left his mouth, Kelso felt as though they were somehow wrong. With a lump forming in his throat, Adrian Kelso recalled a face, half burned, a lovely young woman lying still on the deck, a moment before a flag was draped over her unseeing eyes.

Forcing himself to look out into the crowd, Kelso fought to find some measure of inspiration, an assurance, something to steady him. It was then that he again caught site of Ensign Cole, and of young Joshua and Alexander amid the crowd. Almost in spite of himself, he smiled.

Letting out a long sigh, Kelso leaned forward onto the podium.

"For many years now, we have gathered together here, amid friends, amongst family. We each come here for reasons sometimes known only to ourselves; some in sorrow, some in celebration, but always together. We gather, I think, to find an answer to the one question that truly matters; why? Why did so many good people, our friends, our family, have to perish?"

"This is a question I have _wrestled_ with every day since that battle."

"But as I look out into this crowd today I feel I am perhaps closer to finding an answer to that question; quite simply, they died for us."

"I know many of you were born long after the war. For you it is easy, perhaps even comforting, to label them heroes. The problem with labels is that they are merely words, incomplete in description, limited in value. The depth of their sacrifice is _not_ so easily defined."

"When they turned this ship into a museum, into a monument, I felt no comfort. The _Pacifica_ is just a place, possessing a history, but not a memory. It is for _us_ to remember our fallen, for it was to us that they were most cherished."

"So when I find myself again struggling to explain their loss, my only solace is remembering that they died for _us_."

"For each child's laugh, every lover's kiss, every sunrise, every breath, these men and women so loved _us_ that they gave their last, full measure. Each person here today is their inheritance, their legacy."

"So it is that we continue to gather here, on this ship, to remember them together. With laughter, with tears, we come here, bound by the love they bestowed upon us, all of us as a family. And amongst this family, we continue to feel their love to this day."

With that, Adrian Kelso stepped back away from the podium.

As he did so, a wave of applause, more heartfelt than before, swept through the crowd, echoing off the bulkheads. He had never fancied himself much of an orator, but he was humbled to see how deeply his words had apparently resonated with audience.

As Kelso stepped away, making a vain attempt to surreptitiously wipe a tear that had begun to slip down his cheek, the museum's curator, Eli Straten, stepped back up to the podium. As the applause petered out, Straten thanked Adrian Kelso for his words as the old Battlestar Commander moved back towards his seat.

But as he was about to lower himself back into his chair, Adrian Kelso caught sight of the two Raptor pilots who'd ferried him aboard. Lieutenant Lee, Lieutenant Cooper and a third Colonial Officer, presumably the CO of the Marine Honor Guard detachment, had somewhat sequestered themselves off to one corner of an old Viper service bay and were huddled around an emergency wireless receiver.

Hovering next to his seat for a moment, Kelso watched the three officers intently. To be sure, nearly forty years as a civilian had tempered many things about the old Commander. But somewhere beneath the veneer of what he'd become over these many long years there was still that part of him that had served as Commander of the _Pacifica_. And it was that part of him that was picking up something in the body language of the three officers, a subtle tension.

Something was wrong…

Making his way down from the platform, Kelso stepped over towards the trio. His approach did not go unnoticed either; as they caught sight of him, each of the three officers straightened up a bit, their faces taking on feigned smiles.

Now he knew something was wrong…

"Can we help you, sir?" asked Lieutenant Lee casually as he surreptitiously slipped the emergency wireless set behind his back.

"Funny, I was about to ask you three gentlemen the same question," replied Kelso as he pointed to the wireless set in Lee's hand.

For a moment, they each exchanged a hesitant glance.

"Nothing you need to concern yourself with, sir," replied the officer from the Honor Guard dutifully.

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant," replied Kelso with a forced smile. "I don't think we've been introduced."

"Lieutenant Don Attis, sir," replied the Honor Guard CO as he extended a hand.

Reaching out, Kelso latched onto the hand purposefully, not letting go even as he feigned a smile of his own.

"Good to meet you, Lieutenant Attis," began Kelso as he held Attis' hand firmly. "And now, just so we understand one another; while I am usually loath to stooping to this, let me remind you that I _was_ at one time a Commander in the Colonial Fleet."

Lieutenant Attis made a weak attempt to withdraw his hand, but Kelso held it firm.

"I might further remind you gentlemen that I was in fact the Commander of _this_ very Battlestar long before any of you were so much as a drunken twinkle in your fathers' eye. Now, I may look like nothing more than a wizened old man to you, but please do me the courtesy of not patronizing me."

With that Kelso let go of Attis' hand, much to the subdued relief of the young officer. Gently massaging his hand, Attis exchanged another couple of sideways glances with the two Raptor crewmen. For his part, Kelso simply stood there staring down the three men, his own body language demanding an answer.

Behind them, another round of applause rolled through the audience.

Finally, Lieutenant Cooper took a deep breath and casually took the emergency wireless set from Lee.

"We've been monitoring wireless traffic over the Colonial Fleet Tac-One," began Cooper, keeping his voice low. "So far the reports are vague, but there's been intermittent DRADIS contact with several unknown vessels outside normal commercial lanes."

"Can I presume a ship has been dispatched by Fleet Command to investigate?" asked Kelso flatly.

"The Battlestar _Theseus_ and her group are currently investigating, yes, sir," replied Lee as he cast a hesitant glance over Kelso's shoulder at the crowd.

"In any event, we may need to start preparations for evacuating everyone down to the surface of Libran," continued Lieutenant Cooper evenly.

"Gentlemen, we have over four-thousand people aboard right now," stated Kelso evenly as he too glanced back at the crowd. "None of the charter transports are due back until late tomorrow."

Kelso paused for a moment, looking back at the crowd of people…

By his own words, his family…

"There are still a few shuttles over on the Starboard pod," began Lieutenant Lee. "Between them and our Raptor, we can at least start moving people in small groups."

"We should also try and contact Libran's Civil Traffic Control," continued Lieutenant Cooper. "They might be able to route a few inbound ships to help with the evac…"

"No," said Kelso firmly as he looked back over at the three officers.

"Sir?" asked Lieutenant Attis, visibly puzzled.

"I said 'no', Lieutenant," replied Kelso adamantly.

"Sir, if we need to evacuate…" began Attis, his voice trailing off as he realized a few members of the crowd close by had overheard him.

"Gentleman, let me be clear," began Kelso firmly. "I am not about to allow you to put any of these people in potential danger. Until we have a better idea of what's buzzing about out there, piling these people aboard slow, vulnerable transports and shuttles is a bad idea."

"Do you have a better suggestion, sir?" asked Lieutenant Lee flatly.

Kelso paused for a moment, took a breath, then looked the three officers squarely in the eye.

"I might." 

* * *

**Colonial Fleet Reclamation and Reserve Maintenance Depot  
****Sagittaron Colony**

"Bess, you listening to the wireless?" asked Hal Kipinger as he practically exploded through the office door.

"I'm drowning in too much paperwork to be listening to the wireless," replied Bess wryly as he suppressed his annoyance over Kipinger's unorthodox entry. "Speaking of work, aren't you supposed to be out picking the boneyard for parts to get those Raptors back up and running for fleet?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's being taken care of," replied Kipinger as he briskly stepped over to the civilian wireless receiver and began fiddling with the dials. "But you need to hear this."

"Kip, I don't have time to listen to music right now," sighed Bess as he shuffled a few folders about on his desk.

"This isn't music," replied Kipinger as he apparently found the wireless channel he was looking for.

"…_spokesperson for Colonial Fleet Headquarters says, however, that there is no cause for alarm_," filtered a voice from the wireless receiver's speaker. "_To recap our top story, several unidentified craft have been sighted near Caprica, Picon and Scorpia_…"

"Well?" snapped Kipinger as he turned the volume back down.

"Well what?" retorted Bess as he looked up from the open folder in front of him.

"Didn't you _hear_; there are unidentified craft buzzing around the capital and fleet command centers."

"And how does this in any way help get those Raptors ready for shipment back to the fleet?" replied Bess, the annoyance more than evident in his voice.

"This is major news," stated Kipinger theatrically.

"For the fleet maybe," countered Bess as he leaned back in his chair, the under-oiled mechanism giving a slight groan as he did so. "It's probably some terrorists or something trying to garner a few headlines for whatever whack-job cause they're backing."

"What if it's not?" asked Kipinger simply. "What if it's the Cylons?"

Bess looked over at Kipinger and began to wonder whether the ex-Viper jock had finally lost his last grip on reality.

"Don't be ridiculous," scoffed Bess as he leaned back in over his reports. "The Cylons are long gone, off in deep space."

Glancing up, Bess saw that Kipinger was still staring expectantly at him.

"Would you get back to work please?" sighed Bess.

After a few more seconds of staring at one another, Bess realized his simple imploration wasn't enough. Tossing his pen down onto the stack of reports before him, Bess again leaned back in his creaking chair.

"Look, if it _is_ the Cylons, and I doubt it is, the fleet will be able to take care of the situation. My gods, Kip, have you forgotten just how many Battlestars are in commission right now? Ten _per_ Colony at last count. Cruisers, destroyers; for the love of Artemis, you need to start drinking decaf if you're going to let this rile you up so badly."

"I can't believe you're not the least bit concerned," replied Kipinger as he lightly shook his head. "For frak sake this could be the start of another war."

"And if it is, I'm sure the fleet will want their refurbished Raptors, post-haste," countered Bess simply as he returned his attention to the folder in front of him. "Now will you turn that fraking wireless off and get back down to the machine shop?"

Without another word, Kipinger switched off the wireless set, sighed, and walked out the office door. When he'd gone, Bess looked up from the folder, glanced thoughtfully at the quiet wireless set, stood up, and walked over to the window.

Looking out into the boneyard, Bess saw that several of the workers were huddled around the wireless down in the machine shop. Letting out a long sigh, Bess stepped back over to his desk and was about to pick up the receiver for the landline, intent on calling down to the machine shop himself, when it suddenly rang.

Startled slightly by the ring, he snatched up the handset.

"Bess here."

"_Bess, it's Coleman_," began the voice on the other end of the line. "_Got a little bit of a situation over here at the airfield_."

"Sal, unless you're about to tell me that the entire line-up for Miss Caprica pageant has landed over there, I'm in no mood to hear it," stated Bess evenly as he continued to watch workers out in the boneyard flock around the machine shop.

"_Not quite, Paul_," replied Coleman flatly. "_I've got several ships requesting permission to make landfall over here_."

"Landing requests?" muttered Bess, his brow furrowing a bit. "Who the hell from?"

"_Civilian passenger liners, mostly_," replied Coleman evenly. "_Colonial Fleet Headquarters and Civil Defense have halted all intercolonial traffic along the civil and commercial lanes_."

"Why are they requesting permission to land _here_, why not one of the civil landing strips, there's dozens of them around Sagittaron."

"_The civilian fields are running out of space for them_," answered Cole flatly. "_Planetary flight traffic control is asking us to lighten their burden a bit_."

"You know the drill, Sal, this is a restricted fly-zone; we can't take them unless they've declared an emergency."

"_It may come to that, Paul_," countered Coleman. "_Unless landing space opens up at the civilian pads, flight control is going to have a hell-of-a time keeping so many ships stacked up in orbit_."

Bess took a deep, almost resigned breath.

"How many ships are we looking at if we open our strip?" asked Bess as he began rubbing his left temple, sensing the first tingling of a building headache.

"_Six passenger liners and three freighters right now, Paul_," answered Coleman. "_We've got the space if you approve them for landing_."

"Frak, this is the last thing we need to deal with," growled Bess in annoyance. "Is there any indication how long the commuter lanes are going to be shut down?"

"_None_."

Bess took another deep, even more resigned breath.

"So some damned reporter starts a panic over what's probable no more than a glitch in the DRADIS network and we get stuck playing babysitter for several boatloads of sandal-clad tourists and holier-than-thou businesspeople," sighed Bess.

Bess dearly hoped that once the dust settled whatever moronic journalist had started the panic lost his job…

"All right Sal, clear them to land," relented Bess with a frustrated grunt. "But, I want you to personally advise each and every civilian captain that no one, _no one_, is to get off their respective ship. The last damned thing we need is a bunch of bleary-eyed lookiloos wandering around the tarmac."

"_I'll make sure they get the message_."

As Coleman hung up on the other end of the line, Bess fought the tempting impulse to slam the receiver back down. Letting out a long, frustrated sigh, Bess slowly set the receiver back in place as he hovered over his desk, trying to wrestle emotional control back from the rapid-fire series of complications that had begun to intrude upon what had begun as a normal day.

With his temple still throbbing, Bess picked the receiver back up and dialed in the number for the boneyard's Marine detachment.

"_Duty NCO, Sergeant Gibbs speaking, how may I help you, sir or ma'am_," snapped the crisp voice on the other end of the line.

"Sergeant Gibbs, this is Director Bess, is Major Beck on duty today?"

"_That's a negative, Director Bess_," replied Sergeant Gibbs evenly. "_Major Beck is currently on leave. Detachment XO Captain Gaines is acting CO at this time_."

"Can I speak with her please?"

"_One moment, sir_," replied the Marine as she proceeded to put Bess on hold.

"_This is Captain Gaines_," stated a voice a few moments later.

"Captain Gaines, I need your help," stated Bess as he settled back into his creaking chair.

"_That's why we're here, sir_," replied Gaines lightly.

"Some civilian ships have been cleared for an emergency landing out at the airfield. I need you to get as many of your people over there as possible to give Coleman a hand with crowd control, or more specifically, a hand in making sure nobody gets off those ships."

"_Understood, sir_," replied Captain Gaines dutifully.

"Thank you, Captain," finished Bess as he hung the receiver up.

As he resumed massaging his temple, Bess slowly turned to look back out the window of his office, the chair groaning once more as he did so, lamenting how the day had seemed to start out so promisingly with a beautiful sunrise. 

* * *

**Battlecruiser _Enceladus  
_****Near Armistice Station**

Colonel Thadius Runel felt his head throbbing as he reached up, grabbed hold of the plot table, and pulled himself up from the deck.

"Report!" he shouted, wincing in pain as he reached up and felt the blood running down the side of his face.

Dazed, his vision slightly blurred, Runel glanced around CIC, the sound of emergency alarms mixed with confused shouts and cries.

With his head pounding, Runel cast his eyes up to the DRADIS screen.

Blank; DRADIS was down.

Wiping the blood on his trousers, Runel looked out around CIC, his eyes peering out through the thin smoke filtering into the air. All around, crewmembers were likewise pulling themselves back into their stations. Some groaned, others moved about helping others.

Some did not move at all.

Runel caught sight of his XO lying still on the deck, Lieutenant Thorpe leaning over him. Pressing his fingers against Major Kell's neck, Thorpe searched for a pulse.

"XO's dead, sir!" called Thorpe after a moment.

"Then you're my XO, Lieutenant!" replied Runel flatly. "Get over to the DC panel and get me a damage report!"

Thorpe seemed to hesitate for a moment, looking down at the unmoving body of Major Kell.

"Now, Lieutenant!" snapped Runel.

Startled, Lieutenant Thorpe leapt up and made his way over to the Damage Control panel.

As he continued to feel the blood running down the side of his face, Runel reached down and snatched up the handset on the side of the plot table, toggling the switch for engineering.

For several seconds, Runel waited; no answer.

Placing the handset back in its place, Runel looked over to the communications station where Petty Officer Templeton was readjusting his headset.

"Templeton, get on the wireless to _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_, order them to cover us till we get out systems back up."

"Aye, Colonel."

"Lieutenant Thorpe, give me a report, did we collide with something?"

"Negative, Colonel," replied Thorpe instantly. "Radiological sensors over several decks have been tripped; looks like we've taken a nuclear detonation amidships."

Runel's thoughts were still fighting through the haze he still felt from his head slamming into the deck. One phrase, however, had pierced his dizziness with ice-cold clarity; nuclear detonation.

Not a random asteroid or object, but a deliberate attack.

"Damage control teams?"

"Half a dozen compartments haven't reported in yet, but several teams are fighting to contain fires between frames one-five-zero and two-zero-one."

Looking up, Runel saw that DRADIS was still out.

"Templeton, have _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_ acknowledged our order to provide cover?"

"Negative, Colonel, I am unable to raise either ship over wireless."

"Keep trying."

As he stood there, Runel was startled when a medic suddenly stepped up to him and placed a large bandage over the side of his head.

Frustrated, even annoyed, Runel placed his own hand over the bandage and waved the medic over towards several other injured crewmembers. A litter team appeared moments later, stepped over and picked up the lifeless body of Major Kell.

Pulling the bandage away for a moment, Runel was surprised at the amount of blood on the bandage; _his_ blood. He didn't want to even think about how bad the laceration on his head must be.

Putting the bandage back into place, pressing hard against the stinging pain, Runel reached back down with his other hand and picked up the handset, again toggling the switch for engineering.

"_Lidell, here_!" coughed the Chief Engineer.

"Lidell, what's your status down there?" began Runel as he again looked up at the blank DRADIS.

"_We're picking up the pieces down here, Colonel. Whatever the hell hit us knocked out systems across the board_."

"Not _what_ever, _who_ever; we've got radiological alarms tripped amidships," countered Runel flatly.

"_Nukes_? _Who the frak's firing nukes at us_?"

"I can't find out till you get my DRADIS back up," snapped Runel.

"_Done_," said Lidell simply, hanging up the line a moment later.

For a moment, Runel stood looking at the handset quizzically; he wasn't used to being hung up on so abruptly.

Just then, the overhead DRADIS screen flashed back to life.

Looking up, Runel watched as the screen resolved itself back into a recognizable pattern, the unknown space outside the hull of the ship now not so unknown.

Nor was it empty.

Two icons lay close to _Enceladus_' position, transponder ID quickly labeling them as the destroyers _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_.

And out beyond, floating about where they'd expected to find Armistice Station was an unknown vessel, large, encircled by several fighter-sized craft.

Cylons.

It _had_ to be the Cylons.

Just then, several of the smaller fighter craft launched a volley of missiles.

The remaining fog in his head cleared as a surge of adrenaline was dumped into his bloodstream.

"Lieutenant Thorpe, I need status on all weapons, now!"

As if to answer, the dull drone of the _Enceladus_' defensive guns firing began to reverberate through the hull. Thank the gods, at least someone in Fire Control was on the ball…

Flying headlong into a hailstorm of rounds erupting from the _Enceladus_, the incoming missiles were quickly ripped apart.

"Helm, do we have maneuver control?"

"Affirmative, Colonel, mains are coming back up now," replied Petty Officer Pardi.

"Bring us to Starboard, twenty-two degrees, angle our deflection for optimum broadside."

"Aye, sir."

"Templeton, have you been able to raise _Adroa_ or _Ikenga_ yet?"

"Negative, Colonel," replied Templeton, shaking his head slightly. "I don't understand, all our systems are up, they're just not responding."

Not responding.

Although both ships appeared on DRADIS, neither was doing anything, not maneuvering, not firing, nothing.

The Cylons, however, were not so sedentary; as the _Enceladus_ began her turn, the Raiders that had been holding a tight formation around their Basestar broke away, racing in towards the Colonial battlecruiser.

Snatching up the handset, Runel this time toggled the switch over to Fire Control.

"_Fire Control_."

"This is Runel; bring main batteries online, plot suppressive flak fire on incoming Raiders; multiple targets, multiple attack angles."

"_Understood, sir_."

As he waited for Fire Control to confirm a firing solution, Runel tossed the blood soaked bandage down on the plot table, his eyes locked on the DRADIS.

"_Firing solution has been obtained, Colonel_."

"Commence fire."

Instantly, the thundering cadence of the main cannons firing echoed over the dull drone of the smaller defensive guns.

As a wall of shrapnel was thrown up into their formations, several of Raiders that had begun closing in on the _Enceladus_ were torn to pieces. With the sheer volume of fire being laid down by _Enceladus_ acting as a momentary deterrent, the remaining Raiders veered off, pulled back out of range and began a wide envelopment.

With the handset still pressed to his ear, Runel watched the Raiders redeploy with hawkish eyes. Spreading out in wide arcs, the Raiders were quite literally attempting to encircle the Colonial ships; a wide circle that would contract around them. With so many vessels on divergent approach angles, effective suppressive would be near impossible; too many targets in too many differing directions to concentrate the flak effectively.

Moreover, Runel was keenly aware of the Basestar that was still hovering menacingly just beyond optimum engagement range.

Reaching up with his hand, Runel again felt the slowed, but not stopped, trickle of blood running down the side of his head as he considered his options.

With _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_ apparently out of action, for reasons still unknown, _Enceladus_ was effectively their only defense. If the battlecruiser maintained its current position, it would be able to protect the two destroyers, but he'd be surrendering the initiative to the Cylons, allowing them to attack at their leisure.

If _Enceladus_ broke from its covering position, however, she'd be able to more effectively engage the Cylons, maneuver away to prevent them from concentrating the attack. But, it would leave the two destroyers completely exposed.

Neither option was particularly appealing.

But only one seemed to offer any real chance for survival.

"Petty Officer Pardi, all engines, full ahead flank speed," called Runel. "Bring the nose around, hard a-Port."

"Aye, sir, engines answering all ahead flank speed, coming about zero-nine-zero to Port," replied Pardi, her youthful eyes hesitant as she nevertheless complied with his orders.

Runel could understand that hesitation; he was about to sail the _Enceladus_ right into the center of the storm.

With a steady kick of acceleration, the Colonial battlecruiser began her turn, a turn that would soon bring her nose-to-nose with the Cylon Basestar.

As if in response, the Basestar launched a volley of missiles towards the _Enceladus_. Some of the missiles slammed directly into the wall of suppressive fire still being sent up by the ship's defensive guns. Those that got through the defensive fire continued to race in towards the battlecruiser. Reflexively, Runel gripped the plot table with his free hand in preparation for the jarring impacts, impacts that thankfully never came. With subdued satisfaction, Runel watched the missiles veer away erratically, their guidance systems scrambled as _Enceladus_' reinitialized ECM systems came back online.

With her nose now effectively aimed directly at the offending Basestar, the _Enceladus_ began to churn up the distance between the two ships, closing in. The enveloping Raiders did not alter their approach, however, and continued to close in on the two destroyers.

A quick glance at DRADIS confirmed that most of the Raiders were still outside effective gun range…

However…

"Runel to fire control, you are cleared hot for missile engagement on Cylon Raiders," snapped Runel, his eyes narrowing as he watched the encircling Raiders.

By design, _Enceladus_ had no Viper complement aboard, no fighters of her own with which to engage the Raiders ship-for-ship. But, with no friendly Vipers to worry about felling with an erroneous missile lock, _Enceladus_ had free reign to use everything in her arsenal.

On the DRADIS screen overhead, each of the icons representing the Cylon Raiders was rapidly highlighted, one-by-one, as the ship's phased array targeting system locked onto them. Within moments, a series of missiles erupted from launch pallets positioned along the hull.

As the missiles streaked away on DRADIS, Runel watched as several of the approaching Raiders veered off, maneuvering to evade the guided ordnance. A few of the missiles were thrown off, but a good number of them found their mark, razing some of the Raiders stalking the Colonial ships.

Even as the missile volley was warding off the Raiders, _Enceladus_ continued to build speed, rapidly cutting the distance between her and the Basestar. As if realizing that the closing battlecruiser was intent on biting into them with some very potent teeth, the Basestar launched off another, much heavier volley of missiles at _Enceladus_.

With the distance between them decreasing, the _Enceladus_' ECM systems had less time to act upon the Cylon guidance systems. As a result, several of the enemy missiles were able to strike home on the battlecruiser's bow. But in spite of the withering fire laid down by the Cylons, the stout battlecruiser pushed forward, continuing her charge.

"_Fire control to CIC, passing optimum engagement line, we have a firing solution_."

As he heard the message over the handset, Runel eyed the Cylon Basestar hungrily.

"This is Runel, all bow batteries, hot load, one-to-one HE to AP, fire at will."

Reverberating through hull, the dull thud of the main bow batteries firing echoed throughout CIC, punctuated by the continuing impacts of Cylon ordnance. However jarring the impacts were, they did not deter the _Enceladus_ from her course.

Indeed, Colonel Thadius Runel himself would not be deterred.

The Cylons may have been the first to draw blood, _his_ blood, but he was intent on being the one who finished the fight.

With its Raiders in disarray, regrouping after being pummeled by _Enceladus_' missile strike, and with the battlecruiser itself rapidly bearing down on it, the Cylon Basestar began moving away, attempting to break contact.

"_Fire Control to CIC, we have a good firing solution, multiple impacts of target_."

"This is Runel; at the rapid rate, fire for effect; break their backs, gentlemen."

With her quarry now attempting to retreat, the _Enceladus_ continued her headlong charge, her bow batteries erupting in round after punishing round, peppering the Basestar with unremitting blows even as the enemy ship attempted to withdraw.

Toe-to-toe, the two leviathans traded fire, the engagement devolving into little more than a grueling close-quarters slugfest. As the _Enceladus_ continued to pump round after round into the hull of the Cylon Basestar, the enemy ship continued to launch off missiles, struggling to build up speed for an escape. Missile after missile rained in on the ultra reinforced bow of the _Enceladus_, desperate to delay her, deter her, to stave off what was becoming inevitable.

Too late…

Its structure now fatally compromised by the battlecruiser's fire, the Basestar crumbled under the relentless assault by _Enceladus_, its long spires twisting, contorting till finally the entire ship was engulfed in a blinding explosion that sent debris hurtling into the breathless void.

As the Baseship's icon disappeared from DRADIS, a triumphant cry echoed out through CIC. But Runel did not pause to revel in the victory, his eyes still intently locked on the roughly two dozen surviving Raiders still stalking about just beyond _Enceladus_' gun range.

With the destruction of the Basestar, the surviving Raiders, turned away during their pursuit of the _Enceladus_, again turning and charging headlong towards the _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_. Pulling no punches, the rapidly closing Raiders launched a volley of missiles at the two unresponsive destroyers.

"Helm hard about, one-eight-zero, tight arc, maintain speed," barked Runel as he watched the missiles streak in towards _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_.

In response, the _Enceladus_' bow veered away from the fading pyre of the dead Basestar. With her speed still at a high clip, Runel reached out and held onto the plot table as he felt the deck beneath his feet shift with the high-speed turn, the artificial gravity fighting to compensate for the hard shift in inertia.

Even as the _Enceladus_' was coming about to fend off the renewed assault on the destroyers, the _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_, their defenses apparently down, began absorbing the missile strikes. No defense guns, no ECM, each and every missile slammed home against the hulls of the two destroyers.

With the bow of _Enceladus_ again bearing down on the remaining enemy fighters, the battlecruiser charged back to the defense of _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_.

"Runel to Fire Control, at this distance, can the bow batteries lay down a flak barrier around the _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_?" asked Runel as he watched the tightening ring of Raiders continue their barrage of the destroyers.

"_We have not closed to Optimum Engagement Range, Colonel_."

"That's not what I asked," snapped Runel. "I asked, at this range, is it possible?"

"_Possible, but not recommended_."

"Noted; all bow batteries, flak loads, lay down suppressive barrier around _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_," replied Runel flatly, adding a moment later, in emphasis, "That _is_ an order."

As the bow batteries again erupted, this time peppering the space around the _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_ with explosive flak rounds, the wave of hurtling shrapnel began to tear into the missile volleys. At first, only a few missiles were knocked down, but as the _Enceladus_ closed the gap, the accuracy and effectiveness of her long-range cover fire increased.

Suddenly, the entire mass of Raiders turned again, this time directly at _Enceladus_.

Converging into one massed formation, Runel realized what the Cylon fighters intended to do; they were going to ram _Enceladus_.

"Runel to Fire Control, increase rate of suppressive fire, multiple targets, inbound CBDR."

As he watched on the DRADIS screen, the hail of shells began tearing into the much tighter, easier to target formations. One-by-one, the Raiders were pounded and pulverized, but refused to turn away.

With a wave of dizziness passing over Runel, he set the handset down on the plot table and looked down at his own hands. Blood, dried, drying, _his_ blood, smeared…

Runel shook his head, a few drop of blood raining out onto the plot table, and forced himself to look back up at DRADIS, to fight the dizziness.

The Raiders, their numbers dwindling, continued their suicidal charge. A wave of nausea building in his stomach, Runel felt his skin begin to crawl as he watched the icons, fewer and fewer, yet closer and closer. Joining the withering cannon fire, a volley of missiles raced away, tearing through the Raiders. Yet the remaining few kept coming.

After what felt like an eternity, an eternity of no more than twenty seconds, the last remaining icons vanished from DRADIS, the last Raider having been taken out by a missile barely a dozen meters out from the hull.

Runel let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, his shoulders dropping as if a weight had been removed from them.

After a few seconds, he looked back up at the DRADIS, half expecting to see more contacts.

Thankfully, none appeared.

Reaching down, Runel picked up the handset on the side of the plot board and toggled the switch over to the ship's One-MC.

"This is Colonel Runel, maintain Action Stations, all decks report damage and casualties to the CIC immediately," he stated evenly.

Placing the handset back in its place, Runel looked up at the crewmembers around him. Young, expectant, elated and exhausted, it felt like that surreal moment he'd always seen in movies where the leader was supposed to suddenly say something profound, inspirational. For his own part, in this real-life moment, with nausea and dizziness clouding his perceptions, he couldn't think of a damned thing to say; the reality of the situation seemed to speak for itself.

Their proverbial cherries, his included, had been busted.

They were combat-blooded veterans now.

They were also at war.


	3. Part 2 - Desperate Times, Desperate Meas

**Battlestar _Pacifica_ Museum  
****Libran Colony Orbit  
**

For only the second time in nearly four decades, Adrian Kelso stepped into the CIC of the decommissioned Battlestar _Pacifica_. But unlike his earlier, rather clandestine visit with Ensign Cole, when Kelso stepped back in through the hatch this time, he did so with a sense of purpose, a small entourage of individuals following close behind.

While he could tell by their expressions that the three Colonial Officers, Lee, Cooper and Attis, were still somewhat skeptical that Kelso had anything truly productive in mind by bringing them there, they'd nevertheless acquiesced for the moment to his insistence that they hold off evacuating the ship. For him, the logic of it was simple; museum or not, _Pacifica_ still had the fully armored hull of a Battlestar.

Prior to coming up to CIC, Kelso had also plucked two other individuals from the reunion crowd; Mike Franklin and Theo Cullen, his former Tactical Operations Officer. Since he hadn't yet informed them of exactly _why_ they were heading up to CIC, both of his former officers were understandably curious, but nevertheless followed without question.

Without any of the nostalgic euphoria of his prior visit, Adrian Kelso very purposefully stepped over to the center plot table, the small assemblage hesitantly filing in after him.

"Okay, Adrian, why'd you bring us up here?" asked Mike Franklin flatly as he leaned in over the plot board. "Somehow I get the feeling it's not about some trip down memory lane."

"I brought you up here because there's a situation and I didn't want to risk starting a panic before the facts were in hand," sighed Kelso as he too leaned in over the plot table. "Lieutenant Lee?"

"We've started picking up a lot of wireless chatter over the last hour," began the pilot as he held up the wireless handset. "At first it was just on the civilian channels, but now there are reports filtering in over the Fleet Tac as well."

"What kind of reports?" asked Cullen as he ran his fingers through his significantly grayed hair.

"A few civilian ships have gone silent along the outer rim," replied Lieutenant Cooper evenly. "No warnings, no distress calls, just silence. The civil DRADIS network has also started picking up intermittent contacts with several unidentified ships running without transponders."

"It could be nothing," conceded Kelso, taking a deep breath as he looked out at their collective faces. "But, I'd feel better if we had a clearer idea of what's happening out there."

"I still think we should begin evacuating everyone down to the surface, sir," interjected Lieutenant Attis flatly.

"Evacuate?" sputtered Franklin, scowling a bit. "There's over four thousand people aboard right now, you try and rush them off this ship, they're gonna want to know why. And if this _is_ nothing, Lieutenant, then the Commander is right; that's stirring up a whole lot of panic for no good reason."

"Exactly my point," interjected Kelso, silently bemused for a moment that Franklin had so readily referred to him as 'the Commander'. "If this is simply some glitch in the DRADIS network, then an evacuation isn't necessary."

"And if it's more than just a DRADIS glitch, sir?" shot back Attis.

"Then what I told you back down on the hangar deck stands, Lieutenant," replied Kelso flatly. "It would be piss poor timing to have a hostile contact pop-in while we're moving all these people down in sluggish, unarmed liners and transports."

"I'd have to agree with you there, sir," nodded Theo Cullen. "Question though, why come up here?"

"Well, that depends on Mike," stated Kelso as he looked over at his former Chief Engineer. "Do you think this ship's systems are still operational?"

"Well, she's still technically part of the reserve fleet, so most of her systems should have been kept up, even if they are old," replied Franklin as he scratched at the thick beard on his chin. "Just what systems were you looking at having back online?"

"Communications and DRADIS," answered Kelso simply. "We get some eyes and ears on what's happening, after that we'll be able to make a more informed decision on what to do next."

"Well DRADIS isn't a problem," began Cullen as he turned and made his way over to his old Operations station. "I was talking to some of the museum staff earlier; the array aboard _Pacifica_ is actually linked into Libran's aerospace control network; we bring up our displays, we'll be able to see just about everything in the air, from civilian traffic to migrating birds."

"Lieutenant Lee, give Cullen a hand accessing the network," continued Kelso as he motioned the young officer over to the Ops station. "Lieutenant Cooper?'

"Sir?"

"I need you to work on patching into the communication nets," began Kelso as he also motioned the pilot towards the communications station. "Access as many channels as you can, civilian, military, even the network news affiliates if you can, we need to know what everyone out there is talking about."

"I grabbed the decryp manual from our Raptor when I retrieved the handheld wireless," began Lieutenant Cooper as he stepped over to the Comm station. "As long as this equipment is still functional, we should be able to tap into at least some of the Fleet Tac comm-traffic."

"The equipment should work just fine," grunted Franklin, casting a somewhat indignant glance over at the young officer as the old engineer made his way over to a breaker panel.

Opening the cover, Franklin reached in and tripped several of the circuit breakers, the distinct click of each immediately followed by the low hum of power being restored to several of the systems around CIC.

"Well, I'll give credit to whoever restored and kept up the old girl," sighed Franklin as he gave the panel one last visual once-over. "Her C-three systems appear to have been perfectly repaired and maintained."

"Do we have enough power for DRADIS?" asked Kelso as he watched Franklin close the panel cover.

"Well, the ship's auxiliary generators are already online and running to help maintain orbit," replied Franklin as he stepped back over to the plot table. "We should have more than enough power for what you want to do right now, anything more and I'd have to head down to engineering and see what condition the mains are in."

"Let's hope that's not necessary," replied Kelso as he looked over to Cullen and Lieutenant Lee. "Any luck linking into the civil DRADIS network?"

"Should be coming up now, sir," replied Lee.

Reaching down, Kelso toggled the switch that lowered the overhead DRADIS displays above the plot board. As they settled into place, the screens themselves flashed to life.

As the system completed its startup sequence, numerous icons appeared on the screen, most labeled simply 'unknown' at first, awaiting the return signal from their identity transponders. As the system received the transponder identities, the screen became filled with the myriad of civilian ships inbound and outbound from Libran.

"I've got us linked into the wireless communications network," called Lieutenant Cooper a moment later. "Already picking up a lot of civilian comm traffic, sir."

"Anything significant?" asked Kelso.

For a few moments, Lieutenant Cooper sat listening intently to the headset nestled in his ear.

"Sound like there's a lot of confusion out there, sir," began Cooper. "Nothing really firm so far, just a lot of the same reports about unknown intermittent DRADIS contacts along the civil shipping lanes."

"Go ahead and make some inquiries with those civilian ships, someone out there has to know something other than rumors," said Kelso as he turned his attention back to the DRADIS.

"Understood."

"Sir, I've located some Colonial Fleet units, looks like the _Theseus_ battlegroup," called Lieutenant Lee. "Vipers and Raptors are in the air; looks like they're conducting some sort of reconnaissance sweep on the far side of Libran."

On the DRADIS screen, Kelso watched as the image focused in on the _Theseus_ and her escorts.

"I'm picking up their comm-traffic," called Lieutenant Cooper a moment later. "Sounds like they may have a bead on some of the unidentified contacts."

As Kelso watched intently, a small cluster of unknown contacts appeared near the _Theseus_ and her escort group. Eight total, the unknowns held lose formation with each other as they sailed directly towards the Colonial warships.

"Any wireless contact between _Theseus_ and the unknowns, Mr. Cooper?" asked Kelso.

"Piping it overhead now, sir," replied Lieutenant Cooper, nodding his head slightly.

"…_I say again, this is the Battlestar _Theseus_, to unregistered craft, identify yourselves immediately or you will be fired upon_."

A few tense moments of silence followed with no apparent response from the unknown ships. Then, the icon representing the Battlestar _Theseus_ blossomed with several new icons.

"They've ordered additional planes into the air and are vectoring their Vipers for intercept," stated Theo Cullen, an excited edge slipping into his voice as he listened intently to the headset pressed to his ear.

"Can we link into their squadron communications as well, Lieutenant Cooper?" asked Kelso as he watched just over a dozen of _Theseus'_ fighters begin closing in on the unknown contacts.

"It will take me a few minutes to manually enter the proper decryption codes into the system, sir," replied Lieutenant Cooper as he pulled out the manual he'd retrieved from his Raptor.

Kelso simply nodded his head, his eyes never leaving the DRADIS as he watched _Theseus'_ Vipers and the unknown contact continue to close with one another. Overhead, the speakers continued to emit a garbled set of sounds; the incoherent noise of encrypted wireless transmissions.

Then, abruptly, it all stopped.

As the Vipers reached the point where they should have broken formation to intercept the contacts, nothing happened.

"Sir, we've lost all wireless traffic," burst Lieutenant Cooper, his voice betraying his bewilderment. "I've got the codes in, but there's nothing on the wireless band."

"What do you mean 'nothing'?" muttered Kelso, his face contorting in a slight scowl as he continued to eye the unknown contacts closing in on the Colonial fighters. "Did you upload the decryption protocols?"

"Yes, sir, right out of the book, but…" began Cooper as he pressed his headset tighter against his ear. "Sir, they've stopped transmitting, the wireless band is completely silent…"

"What about the _Theseus_ and the rest of her group?" asked Kelso flatly as he looked over to Cooper.

"They've also gone silent, sir," replied Cooper, more concern creeping into his tone. "It's like everyone just decided to turn off their damned wireless sets."

Looking back up at the DRADIS, Kelso watched as the 'unknown' craft and the Viper signals merged.

Then, all at once, the Viper icons vanished from the screens overhead.

As he saw this, Adrian Kelso felt like his stomach had suddenly dropped into freefall, the blood quickly draining from his face as he watched the 'unknown' icons continue on and begin closing with the _Theseus_ and her escorts.

"Oh my gods!" burst Theo Cullen as he snapped his head around towards the Kelso. "Sir, systems are showing a radiological detection…"

Even as the words left Cullen's mouth, Kelso and everyone else in CIC watched in horror as the DRADIS flared with the telltale signatures of multiple nuclear detonations engulfing the _Theseus_ and her escorts.

When the interference finally began to clear, the _Theseus_ and the rest of her battlegroup were gone.

All that remained were the eight 'unknown' contacts.

His pulse quickening, his stomach twisting in knots, Kelso looked around at people with him in CIC.

"We need to start evacuating everyone to Libran right now…" began Lieutenant Attis evenly.

Looking over at the young officer Adrian Kelso inexplicably let out a slightly bemused chuckle.

"Are you not paying attention to what's going on out there, Lieutenant?" he said simply. "Those _eight_ ships out there just knocked out an entire battlestar group, what kind of short work do you think they'd make of a bunch of crates hauling civilians?"

Watching each of the three young officers for a moment, Kelso plainly saw the uncertainty and utter confusion in their expressions.

Looking back up at the DRADIS, Kelso watched as the eight 'unknowns' broke formation, splitting off in pairs to chase down and intercept the myriad of civilian ships in the area around them.

"Lieutenant Cooper, get on the wireless to anyone, everyone, Civil Defense, Colonial Fleet, try and raise the alarm," stated Kelso evenly.

"Sir," interjected Cooper. "I agree with Lieutenant Attis, we need to begin evacuating the civilians, _now_."

"Gentlemen, I don't want to insult your intelligence but frankly I'm getting a bit too old to keep retreading the same discussions with you so let me put this to you bluntly," began Kelso as he stepped around the plot board and pointed back up at the DRADIS. "Those are Cylons out there, armed with nukes; we even try to evacuate now and we'll be sitting ducks for them."

"With all due respect, sir, we don't know for certain that they're Cylons," countered Attis flatly. "And whether they are or not, in my opinion, we're just as much sitting ducks for them up _here_."

"This isn't up for debate, Lieutenant," snapped Kelso, his tone taking on a commanding edge even he'd thought long gone. "We are _not_ leaving the _Pacifica_."

"You're right, sir, this isn't a debate," shouted Lieutenant Attis, taking several brisk steps towards the Kelso. "This ship isn't a Battlestar, sir, it's a _museum_, and with all due respect towards your service during the war, I cannot believe you would risk everyone aboard just to satisfy some misguided notion about going down with your ship."

Turning away, Kelso silently stepped back over to the plot board and cast his weary eyes back up to the DRADIS.

The Cylons Raiders, and every gut instinct Kelso had said that _was_ what they were, were methodically running down the myriad of civilian and commercial ships on the far side of Libran.

Some of the civilians changed course, attempting to evade the Cylons.

A few actually managed to jump away.

For most of them, however, any attempt to escape was futile, the Cylon ships were simply too fast and maneuverable to elude. As everyone in _Pacifica_'s CIC listened in pensive horror, the overhead speakers quickly became a frightful chorus of final, desperate transmissions, overlapping cries for help and frantic pleas to the gods from the ships being hunted down and slaughtered.

As the Cylons continued to wade through the helpless civilian ships, their DRADIS icons continued to disappear one by one, the simplicity of their vanishing from the screen a stark, surreal contrast to the frenzied cries echoing out over the wireless, almost as though one had nothing to do with the other.

After a few moments of tense silence, with nearly everyone staring unflinchingly across the old CIC at one another, the three young officers began making their way towards the entry hatch, obviously expecting the old veterans to follow suit.

As they reached the hatch and looked back, however, they saw that neither Cullen nor Franklin had moved an inch. Instead, both men simply stood where they were, watching their former Commander, waiting.

Overhead, the agonizing sounds of the massacre occurring on the far side of Libran continued to filter in, each shattered cry echoing off the bulkheads in the deserted CIC.

At the plot board, Adrian Kelso took a deep, deciding breath, straightened up his posture a bit, clasped his hands behind his back and then looked over to Mike Franklin.

"Shut off the overhead, Theo," said Kelso simply as he held Franklin's steady gaze.

Silently, solemnly, Theo Cullen stepped back over to the Communications station and turned off the overhead speakers.

As he stood there holding Adrian Kelso's unflinching gaze, Mike Franklin took in a deep breath, the corner of his lip curling into the barest hint of a grin.

"Now why do I get the terrible feeling I know what you're thinking, sir?" asked Franklin evenly as he slowly crossed his arms while looking back over at his former Commander.

"Maybe it's because you're getting to be just as crazy in your old age as I am," replied Kelso as he wiped a newly formed bead of sweat from his brow. "According to the readouts, _Pacifica_'s tylium tanks are still well over fifty percent. I don't suppose you still remember where engineering is."

"Pretty sure it'll be right where I left it," replied Franklin flatly as he turned and headed out past the three dumbfounded young officers towards the entry hatch. "I'll let you know when, or _if_, I can get the mains back online."

As he reached the CIC hatch, Franklin paused and glanced back at Kelso, his eyes hesitant.

"What about Joshua and Alexander?"

"I'll be sure they're taken care of, Mike."

Nodding his head slightly, Franklin then turned and exited the CIC.

As his gaze settled back in on Lieutenant Attis, Kelso saw the young officer gently shaking his head in disbelief.

"You _can't_ be serious about this," said Lieutenant Attis evenly.

"Contrary to your beliefs, Lieutenant Attis, I have absolutely no fraking intentions of 'going down' with this ship," said Kelso evenly as he leveled a truly no-nonsense gaze on the trio.

"This ship has no weapons, no munitions, no fighters," muttered Lieutenant Lee. "Even the FTL systems aren't functional."

"What the hell do you expect to accomplish, sir?" snapped Attis angrily.

"Those Cylon ships are still on the far side of the planet, well outside direct DRADIS range of _Pacifica_," replied Kelso, again pointing up at the DRADIS. "They don't know we're here, the only reason _we_ can detect _them_ is because we're linked into the aerospace traffic control network. Right now it's just a section of Raiders, but I'd bet my last cubit they're the vanguard of a force of Basestars that could show up any moment. But, if we can get the mains back online, break orbit, we might be able to maneuver away without them ever knowing we were here."

The three young officers stood there at the hatch, utterly taken aback, staring at Adrian Kelso as though he'd entirely lost his mind.

"Now, as I see it gentleman, the three of you have just _two_ choices," continued Kelso as he stood at the plot table staring down Attis, Cooper and Lee. "You can head back down to the hangar deck, take your Raptor and abandon not only everyone aboard this ship but your oaths as officers in the Colonial Fleet, _or_ you can help us get this ship underway. Now, which is it going to be?"

As the three young officers stood there, unsure, non-committal, confronted with what they likely perceived as a senile lunatic, Adrian Kelso reached down, picked up the handset on the side of the plot board, and toggled the switch to broadcast over the ship's One-MC.

* * *

Down in the reunion hall, the veterans, their families and friends were a roiling sea of socialization. Laughter and conversation from so many voices echoed through the vast chamber that had once been the Port flight deck. Young Colonial officers stood with recruitment poster smiles, enduring tired war stories from the old veterans while other people continued to indulge themselves with the sumptuous offerings from the ample buffet table. Some people laughed, a few more cried over lost loved-ones, and in a few spots, mothers or fathers chased or called after their darting children.

While a few of the attendees had been attentive enough to note their former Commander surreptitiously plucking Franklin and Cullen from amid the crowd a little while ago, none had wanted to disturb the generally genial event by making mention of it. A few whispers were traded, but overall, everyone was more or less content to simply enjoy the food and conversation.

"_This is Adrian Kelso; can I have your attention please_?"

At the sound of Adrian Kelso's voice filtering in unexpectedly over the One-MC, a hush settled in almost instantly over the assemblage.

"_At this time I need all former department heads and all current active duty Colonial Military personnel to report immediately to the CIC, thank you_."

The announcement, short as it was, was nevertheless enough to instantly touch off a wave of murmurs throughout the crowd, confused whispers and questioning glances rolling through the mass of humanity like a wave as several of the old veterans along with the few active Colonial officers and enlisted aboard began making their way towards an open causeway.

* * *

**Battlecruiser _Enceladus  
_****Near Armistice Station  
**

Colonel Thadius Runel sat looking over the thin stack of damage reports attached to the clipboard in his hands. Beside him, a Medic was methodically stitching up the two-inch laceration on his scalp. In spite of the local anesthetic, Runel still winced occasionally as the Medic worked to close his wound.

"This would be easier if you'd agreed to come down to sickbay, Colonel," muttered the Medic as he wiped away a trickle of blood with a piece of gauze.

"Just get it done," growled Runel, wincing again as another stitch was pulled through.

Returning his attention to the clipboard, Runel continued to peruse through the damage reports. The fires amidships had been extinguished and DC teams were making headway putting repair measures in place for getting the ship back underway. Fifteen crewmembers, including his XO, Major Kell, had been killed in the action, another thirty-seven were injured, four critically; blessedly few casualties considering the pounding the stout _Enceladus_ had endured.

Flipping the page, the next report struck Runel as far more troublesome.

As soon as emergency wireless contact had been reestablished with the _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_, Runel had spoken with the commanders of the two destroyers, Major Ambrose and Major Jasper. To Runel's dismay, both of his two subordinates informed him that at the outset of the engagement with the Cylons both ships had suffered nearly identical catastrophic shutdowns of all their computer systems which had rendered both vessels immobile and defenseless almost as soon as they jumped in.

After all initial efforts to get the destroyers back up and running had failed, _Ikenga_'s Chief Engineer had put forth the rather drastic suggestion that all the computer hard drives controlling the various systems be completely wiped and reformatted. Reluctantly, both Major Ambrose and Major Jasper had agreed to the measure.

Fortunately, the measure seemed to have worked; both the _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_ were now reporting that their primary systems were once again online, the critical operational software having been reloaded using protected backups. What still unnerved Runel, however, was that they had not yet determined exactly _how _the Cylons had managed to trigger such a complete computer shutdown aboard both destroyers.

"Alright, Colonel, we are just about done here," muttered the Medic as he gently taped a bandage over the freshly stitched wound. "Remember to try and keep the wound dry and clean, change the dressing every few hours and report to medical if you have any further dizziness."

"Understood, thank you," replied Runel simply as he stood up from the chair, clipboard in hand.

Once he was on his feet, Runel paused, the watchful eye of the Medic on him as he steadied himself against the slight wave of lightheadedness that momentarily gripped him.

The Medic went to grab hold of his arm but stopped as Runel dismissively waved the man away.

"That will be all, Petty Officer," stated Runel simply as he stepped back over towards the center plot table.

"Aye, sir."

Runel knew damned well he belonged in sickbay; the concussion he'd doubtless received from his head slamming into the deck needed examination. But for Runel, it wasn't so simple, especially now; his XO was dead, they were at war, and he had a ship to run.

"Mr. Templeton?"

"Yes, Colonel?"

"Get me Major Ambrose and Major Jasper on wireless," stated Runel evenly as he dropped the clipboard down onto the plot table with a slight clatter.

As he waited for Templeton to advise him that the wireless channel was open, Runel felt an itch on his head. Instinctively reaching up, his fingers quickly found the gauze dressing the Medic had placed over his stitches.

His sewn-up laceration had begun to itch.

"That's going to get annoying," he muttered under his breath as he clenched his fingers and resisted the urge to scratch.

"I have _Adroa_-Actual and _Ikenga_-Actual on wireless, Colonel," announced Templeton, momentarily distracting Runel from the insufferable itch gnawing at his patience beneath the bandage.

Flexing his fingers once again against his own urge to rip the bandage from his scalp and itch till every stitch was ripped clean out, Runel very deliberately reached down and picked up the handset on the side of the plot table instead.

"_This is _Adroa_-Actual, go ahead _Enceladus."

"Ikenga_-Actual, send your traffic_."

"This is _Enceladus_-Actual, give me a status report."

"_We're still trying to get our systems back up to speed, sir_," began Major Ambrose, CO of the Adroa. "_Some of our backups appear a revision or two out of date, but we should be back up in about an hour_."

"_Sitrep is about the same here, _Enceladus_-Actual_," continued Major Jasper, CO of the Ikenga. "_DC teams have completed repairs to our drive systems; computers are still being recalibrated from the reformat_."

"What about casualties?" sighed Runel.

"_We suffered one hundred and ninety-six dead_," said Major Ambrose bitterly. "_We have another seventy-three wounded, twenty-two critically. Doc says we'll need to evac them to a ground facility with a full trauma ICU at first opportunity_."

"_We lost one-hundred twenty-five over here, sir_," continued Major Jasper, a long sigh escaping her as she said as much. "_Fifty-three more wounded, fifteen are critical and in need of evac as well_."

"I know it's a fraked up thing to say, but it could have been a helluva lot worse," sighed Runel as he glanced back down at his own ship's casualty list.

"_Sir, do you have any idea why _Enceladus_ wasn't affected by, well, whatever it was the Cylons used to shut our systems down_?" asked Major Jasper pointedly.

"Best theory we have right now is that the Cylons used a wireless signal to hack into your systems," replied Runel as he absently leafed through the pages on the clipboard. "Since your systems were still networked, the intrusion went ship-wide, allowing them to shut you down. Our network is down, so our primary systems weren't vulnerable."

"_I'll go ahead and have our Chief Engineer take our network offline, run all our systems in stand-alone_," sighed Major Jasper.

"_Systems are going to run slower in stand-alone, response times will be delayed_," interjected Major Ambrose hesitantly.

"Better slow than not at all," countered Runel flatly as he pushed the clipboard aside and looked up at the DRADIS. "Until we figure out a better defense against Cylon interference with our computers, it seems to be the only option available."

"_Understood, sir, I'll get my people to work shutting down our network as well then_," stated Major Ambrose.

"Keep me apprised; we'll need to get underway as soon as possible, _Enceladus_-Actual out."

With that, Colonel Runel hung up the handset and glanced around CIC.

They needed to get back within wireless range of Picon Fleet Headquarters and advise them of their engagement with the Cylons. Even though the battle had come out as a nominal victory for the Colonial ships, the fact that the Cylons had managed to neutralize the _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_ at the outset meant the bulk of the fleet was potentially at risk.

Runel doubted this attack would be an isolated incident; no, he was certain this had been the opening shots in a renewed assault by the Cylons.

He had to raise the alarm.

But, he was not about to leave the two destroyers helpless in order to do so, he'd have to wait until they were able to get underway again as well.

Unless…

"Lieutenant Thorpe?"

"Sir?"

"Get on the horn down to the flight deck, I want a Raptor prepped to fly in fifteen minutes," said Runel as Lieutenant Thorpe stepped up beside him. "We may not be able to leave the _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_, but we can at least get the word out that the Cylons are on the move."

Lieutenant Thorpe stood silently looking back at Runel for a moment, clearly hesitant.

Sensing the hesitation, Runel let out a sigh.

"Spit it out, Lieutenant."

"Hangar entry doors are jammed shut, sir," stated Thorpe evenly as he handed Runel another DC printout. "_Adroa_ and _Ikenga_ will be ready to get underway before repairs to the mechanisms are complete."

Runel was about to say something, but stopped.

No point venting annoyance on the man over something that was not his doing.

"Very well, Lieutenant, belay my last."

Runel looked up a DRADIS, his frustration percolating.

He'd have to wait until the _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_ were back up before he'd be able to raise the alarm. All he could do was hope they'd be able to make the FTL jump back in time to warn the rest of the fleet before the Cylons struck again.

* * *

******Colonial Fleet Reclamation and Reserve Maintenance Depot  
****Sagittaron Colony  
**

With a sense of resigned finality, Director Paul Bess crumpled up the day's itinerary list and tossed it in the trashcan. Whatever else the day brought, by now he knew, the list of tasks his people had been meant to accomplish that day no longer held any real significance.

As he turned back to the small group of his supervisors huddled around the wireless set in his office, Bess listened as the near-breathless reporter continued her coverage of what was by now quite obviously a renewed, wide-spread and brutal assault by the Cylons against the Colonies.

The civilian ships, a total of fifteen at last report, had barely touched down at the airfield when the broadcast news evolved from vague gossip concerning unknown ships at the Colonial outskirts to multiple and confirmed reports of nuclear detonations on Caprica, Picon and Scorpia.

"This is unfraking believable," muttered Kipinger, slowly shaking his head as the newscaster recapped the report of Caprica City's destruction.

"The fleet will respond," muttered Janice Aster, weakly, hopefully. "It _has_ to respond."

For his part, Bess was beginning to have his doubts.

Thus far, very little mention of the fleet, its activities, or an expectation of a counterattack had been made by the news services. Indeed, from everything they were hearing from the civilian networks, it was almost as if the fleet was not responding at all.

"At this rate, the Cylons keep dropping nukes on cities, they'll be nothing left for the fleet to defend," muttered Kipinger somewhat cynically.

"And if the fleet hasn't been able to protect Caprica or Picon, what's the likelihood that they'll be able to stop them before bombs start falling here?" put forth Nakaya Foteva, another of his supervisors, one who'd been absent from the meeting that morning, as she absently chewed on a fingernail.

Bess cast her a sideways glance.

Just then, the landline on his desk rang.

"Bess here," he stated evenly as he lifted the receiver to his ear.

"_Mr. Bess, this is Captain Gaines_," stated the voice on the other end of the line. "_We have a bit of a situation over here at the landing field_."

Even as the young Captain stated as much, Bess could readily hear the din of frantic, angry voices shouting in the background, almost as though she had a small riot on her hands.

"Are the passengers on the civilians ships giving you trouble, Captain?"

"_Not so much, sir, no_," replied Gaines, pausing for a second to shout out some orders to a couple of her Marines. "_Most are too busy listening to the wireless to be causing much of a problem, but that's not why I called_."

"Why, what's happening now?"

"_We have a fairly large crowd gathering at the front gates demanding to be let into the facility_," replied Gaines, her voice laced with tension.

"Why, where the hell do they think they're going to able to go?" asked Bess.

"_I'm not sure, sir, the ships here at the airfield, maybe_," replied Gaines, again pausing to shout out a few orders. "_What I do know is that this situation could deteriorate rapidly. The last thing I want is to have to start taking people into custody_."

"Or for a riot to break out," sighed Bess as he lowered his head slightly. "Can your Marines hold the gate for now?"

"_Well, sir, not to sound dramatic, but we've caught a bit of a break_," replied Captain Gaines. "_One of the transports that touched down was a military charter ferrying a company of Marine Reservists back to Picon. Their CO, Captain Brenner has already deployed them to augment my people, but I'm not going to lie, sir, it's getting pretty hairy out here_."

Bess sighed again.

Although the boneyard was located in a remote region of Sagittaron, there was the small community just outside the main perimeter. Although it was just a small hamlet which had grown up to support the depot personnel and their families, enough people lived there that the few hundred already at the gate could easily swell to several thousand if they all came to the depot.

"Do your best, Captain, and be sure to pass my thanks on to Captain Brenner and his people for their assistance," replied Bess evenly. "But be clear, I need you to hold that gate, and avoid an incident if possible."

"_Will do, sir_," replied Gaines simply before hanging up the line.

As he set the receiver down, Bess looked up at the group of supervisors in his office, who were in turn watching him.

"Trouble at the main gate?" asked Kipinger.

"It's only going to get worse until the fleet manages to do something," stated Janice Aster as she stood leaning against the wall. "Unless there's some sign that the Cylons will be stopped soon, people are going to panic."

"We might already be past that point," sighed Bess as he thought about the shouts he'd heard in the background. "Public opinion is still not that great about the military here on Sagittaron as it is, the last thing we need is for this to go South with our Marines having to use force on an unarmed crowd."

Bess slowly got up from his creaking seat, stepped over to the window and looked out into the boneyard. Although he couldn't see the main gate or the landing field from his office, he could practically feel their presence beyond the serene rows of trees at the far end of the yard.

With a resigned sigh, he reached down, pulled open a drawer, and retrieved a half-empty pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Putting one of the thin cigarettes between his lips, in full view of his assembled supervisors, he lit it and took a deep drag.

He'd been trying to quit, but at the moment it just didn't seem to matter much…

"I guess that's a proverbial smoke'em if you got 'em," muttered Kipinger as he too began to pull out a pack from his trouser cargo pocket.

"Don't even think about it," growled Bess even as he ignored the glaring contradiction. "My office, my cancer."

Kipinger slowly pushed the pack back down into his pocket.

Taking another deep drag, Bess turned and looked out the window into the boneyard below, the continuing din of the confused and in some cases near-panicked news reports continuing to filter in over the wireless.

"Frak," he muttered simply in frustration.

Just then, the rapid, almost frantic voices of the newscasters filtering over the wireless set were suddenly cut off by a piercing shrill and static.

As most everyone else in the room clasped their hands over their ears to the ear-piercing squeal, Kipinger briskly stepped over and switched the set off.

Although he'd never heard the sound before personally, Bess nevertheless felt his stomach drop, having heard enough stories from the war to know what the sudden squeal and static meant; the transmitter, and presumably the reporters, had been engulfed in a nuclear explosion.

"We need to do _something_, boss," stated Foteva flatly.

Glancing over a Foteva, Aster and Kipinger, Bess took a third, final drag from the cigarette, then let out a long breath, the smoke wafting up towards the ceiling. Foteva was second only to himself in the overall 'chain-of-command' at the depot. A retired Colonel, she'd spent almost as much time in the fleet as Bess had, moreover, she'd only recently retired from the service.

"We've got a bunch of rusting hulks here, Nakaya," stated Kipinger evenly. "What _can_ we do? This is something the fleet needs to take care of."

Glancing back out at the yard, Bess squashed out the half-burnt cigarette, then clasped his hands together behind his back.

Rusted hulks indeed.

Down below, row upon row of abandoned, stripped, useless fighters sat in line with one another.

Just then, the landline on his desk rang again. As he stepped back over and lifted the receiver, Bess half expected it to be Captain Gaines again.

"Bess here."

"_Paul, you're not going to believe this one_," began Jaren Pelt on the other end of the line.

"JP, aren't you still up in orbit?" asked Bess evenly.

"_Yeah, where the hell else would I be_?" replied Pelt somewhat incredulously.

"Well, we've got just about all hell beginning to break loose down here," stated Bess as he leaned in over his desk. "What 'good news' do _you_ have for me?"

"_Major Tyle is requesting permission to break orbit_," replied Pelt, half chuckling.

"What?" sputtered Bess.

"_She just had her Marines shuffle my people off the _Proteus_ and is ordering us to release the moorings so she can break the ship from orbit_," stated Pelt evenly.

"What the hell for, that ship has been decommissioned, it's here to be mothballed," snapped Bess, his statement eliciting a few surprised glances from the gathering of supervisors around his office.

"_Paul, if I had any insight into how a woman's mind worked, I wouldn't be thrice-divorced_," replied Pelt evenly. "_My best guess is that she plans on taking the _Proteus_ out to join up with the fleet_."

"And what, get her ship and crew vaporized?" shot back Bess, shaking his head slightly. "She's got no fighters, no ammo, less than a skeleton crew…"

Letting out a long, exasperated sigh, Bess' voice trailed off.

For a moment, he stood speechlessly looking out at the thicket of trees, beyond which lay the landing field.

More importantly, though, his eyes caught sight of the fleet preposition warehouses at the far end of the boneyard.

And it was then that it hit him.

He had an idea…

And even as the thought began to formulate in his mind, Bess half wondered if he wasn't in fact beginning to lose his mind…

No, it _was_ crazy…

Then again, it was turning into a crazy day…

"Pelt, order her to stand down, tell Major Tyle you're _not_ releasing those moorings because she's _not_ cleared for departure," stated Bess evenly. "I may have a more important job for her here."

* * *

******Battlestar _Pacifica_ Museum  
****Libran Colony Orbit  
**

Adrian Kelso stood looking out at the shocked faces assembled before him.

In a matter of only a few minutes he'd managed to inform them of the situation, about the Cylons, about what was apparently the start of a new war, and finally about his plan to utilize the _Pacifica_ to effect an escape.

All things considered, he had to admit they'd taken it fairly well.

"Breath son, deep breaths," muttered one his old veterans, Ella Lafferty, as she stood patting the back of a young Marine who'd quite nearly vomited and was nor little more than hunched over a control panel.

Lieutenant Attis, Lieutenant Lee and Lieutenant Cooper had apparently elected to remain aboard for the moment, the three of them standing near the back of the group against the bulkhead with some of the other active military. From the expression on his face, it was clear that Lieutenant Attis didn't expect anyone there would be taking Kelso's proposal seriously.

"All right people, time is a luxury we don't have right now," interjected Kelso as the assemblage continued to digest what he had proposed. "If we're going to do this, we have to do it _now_."

"Sir, do you really think we'll be able to break orbit?" asked one of the veterans, his name escaping Kelso for the moment.

"I don't really see that we have any other choice but to try," he replied evenly. "Civil Defense just shut down all ingoing and outgoing traffic from the surface, so evacuating to Libran is not an option even if we had the ships to do it with. For the moment, the Cylons are still outside direct DRADIS range of _Pacifica_ and Mike Franklin is already down in engineering working to bring the mains online for a deorbit burn, but he's going to need help."

Several of the veterans mumbled amongst themselves, understandably uncertain; they trusted him, but what Adrian Kelso was suggesting was an about as unorthodox a proposal as could be made under already frightfully uncertain circumstances.

"What about weapons, sir?" asked another of the veterans.

"This is _not_ about a gunfight," replied Kelso, shaking his head adamantly. "This is just about getting out of orbit under our own power and evading the Cylons till the fleet is able to muster a counterattack."

Pausing, Kelso looked around at the group hopefully, expectantly

Finally, Ensign Jinara Cole, granddaughter of his former XO, stepped forward.

"I'll help get _Pacifica_ underway, sir," she said simply. "Where do you need me, Commander?"

For a moment, Ensign Cole seemed to stand alone. Then, slowly, others began to step forward too, mostly the veterans at first, but finally some of the other active fleet personnel as well. Before Kelso's eyes, the collective apprehension and doubt seemed to melt away.

He couldn't help but grin.

"Okay, people, we'll play this one by the numbers," began Kelso evenly as he slowly paced before the assemblage.

"Jackson, Lafferty and Poe, head back down to the reception hall and find as many of our people as you can who'll be able to give Franklin a hand getting the mains back online."

"Understood," replied Lafferty as she, Poe and Jackson filed out of CIC.

"Next, we need to move the families and guests into the interior sections of the ship where they'll be better protected," continued Kelso. "Start with the children, get them into the medical ward, it's the most protected area aboard. Denado, Piper, Chaidez, I'll leave that to you."

"We'll get it done, sir," replied Chaidez as he motioned for the others to follow.

Finally, Kelso found himself looking out at the aged faces of his old CIC crew and the few active duty Colonial military personnel aboard.

Lieutenant Lee and Lieutenant Cooper glanced over at Lieutenant Attis, apparently the senior-most officer amongst the assemblage. Attis still appeared almost contemptuously dubious of Kelso's plan and gently shook his head as he looked back at the two junior officers. For their part, however, the two Raptor pilots seemed at least somewhat willing to give Kelso's plan a shot.

"How can we help, sir?" asked Lee simply as he held his gaze with Lieutenant Attis.

Again, Kelso grinned.

"Well, as you gentleman can imagine, this ship isn't exactly stealthy on DRADIS," began Kelso as he motioned up at the DRADIS console overhead. "Our best chance for avoiding detection by the Cylons will be to sever as many outgoing wireless signals and energy emissions as possible, including DRADIS."

"How do you intend to navigate without DRADIS, sir?" asked Cooper.

"That's where we need your help," sighed Kelso as he stepped in closer to the two Raptor crewmen. "I need you and Lieutenant Lee to get back down and get your Raptor into the air, it will be harder for the Cylons to detect and localize your DRADIS emissions; we'll use you as our eyes."

"Understood," replied Lieutenant Lee, gently nodding as he nudged Cooper's arm, prompting him to follow.

With that, the two Raptor crewmen left CIC and headed back down to the flight deck.

Passing them in the entryway, the museum curator, Eli Straten, stepped into CIC, glanced around in confusion, then cut a path directly towards Adrian Kelso.

"Mr. Kelso, what's this all about, what's going on?"

"What's going on, Mr. Straten is that we're preparing get the _Pacifica_ underway."

"Wh…wha…underway, _what_?" sputtered Straten, his expression utterly stunned, as much by the matter-of-fact manner with which Kelso spoke as he was by the idea of getting the ship underway.

Then it seemed to sink in a little deeper for Straten; these 'crazy old men' were hijacking _his_ museum.

As Straten opened his mouth to offer a more vociferous protest, Kelso held up his hand.

"Before you say one single word, Mr. Straten, let's just be sure we understand one another. You can either ride out this situation with the others in the protected areas of the ship, or, you can ride it out in the brig; I'm sure your staff has done just as meticulous a job of keeping it up as they have other areas of the ship."

"You wouldn't _dare_, you don't have the authority," stammered Straten indignantly.

"Try me."

For a moment, Kelso and Straten stood staring at one another.

"We _are_ getting underway, Mr. Straten."

Straten simply stood there, utterly flabbergasted. In near desperation, he looked over to Lieutenant Attis. However hostile the officer may have been towards Kelso's plan, he now also seemed more or less resigned to it and simply shrugged at Straten.

Straightening his thin-rimmed glasses, Straten, visibly flustered, turned and scurried out of CIC.

Sighing as he watched the fussy curator leave, Kelso looked back over to Lieutenant Attis.

"Think your people can act as an ad hoc security detail, just in case we get boarded by the Cylons?" he asked flatly.

Attis was now the one that seemed stunned; hadn't he considered that possibility?

"Well, I've got a dozen Marines here, all pulled from Garrison duty," replied Attis as he motioned to Honor Guard. "Trouble is, we have no gear for that sort of detail on board; no body armor, rifles or carbines, just a few sidearms."

"Well, it's better than what we have right now, which is nothing," sighed Kelso. "Get below decks, besides a few old Marines there's bound to be some cops or security officers in the crowd down there, see if you can organize some of them into some sort of security force, I'll leave it to your discretion. You can lose the dress gray tunics too, not much need for them right now."

At that, a few of the honor guardsmen seemed visibly relieved at the idea of losing the frankly cumbersome dress tunics.

Nodding his head, apparently at last conceding to the seeming inevitability of the situation, Lieutenant Attis turned and ushered his team out of CIC.

Finally, the only people remaining were Ensign Cole and the remaining members of Kelso's old CIC crew.

Taking a deep breath, he looked into the weathered faces of the men and women with whom he'd once served in the most harrowing of times, all too cognizant that he was once more asking them to put their lives on the line for no other reason than their faith in him.

"Take your places, people," said Kelso simply as he stepped back over towards the center plot table.

As he did so, the veteran members of his old CIC crew began filtering out towards their old stations. Without question or comment, each seemed to slip back into their former posts, an air of odd familiarity settling over them as they remembered the feel of the seats, the controls under their fingers, that same kind of strangely nostalgic comfort one might get from slipping on a well-worn glove. Nevertheless, whatever momentary wistfulness they felt was quickly supplanted by purpose as display screens were switched on, controls checked and purposeful intent rekindled.

Like an antique blade, still razor sharp once unsheathed.

All except for Ensign Jinara Cole.

With a gentle wave of his hand, Kelso motioned for Ensign Cole to join him at the plot table.

Objectively, Kelso knew it seemed somewhat whimsical, asking the granddaughter of his former XO to join him at the plot table. Nevertheless, it also somehow seemed indisputably right at that moment.

"So what occupational field are you training in, Ensign?" asked Kelso simply as he looked across the plot board to the young woman.

"Command Operations, sir," she replied evenly. "I'm supposed to begin the undergrad residency program at the War College next week."

"Then consider this a jump start on your studies," grinned Kelso as he glanced around CIC. "Lesson number one; a commanding officer is only as good as the people they command."

With that, Kelso reached down, picked up the handset and toggled the switch down to main engineering. Within moments, Mike Franklin picked up the line at the other end, muttering an indiscernible curse before acknowledging him.

"You ready to get the old girl the hell outta here, Mike?"

"_Ready as we'll ever be_," replied Franklin. "_Main reactors are back up, ready for deorbit burn at your discretion_."

"Great work, Mike," replied Kelso simply before hanging the handset back up.

Looking over to the Helm, Kelso saw Barris and McCall as they sat looking over the controls, familiar and yet almost forgotten.

"Problems?" asked Kelso as he watched his two former helmsmen.

"No, sir," snapped McCall instantly, shaking his head as he firmly took hold of the controls.

"Barris?"

"It's just been a while, sir," chuckled Barris as she too took hold of the controls. "Largest thing I've piloted lately is my SUV."

"You'll do fine," replied Kelso with a grin.

Subtle as it was, Kelso's statement nevertheless seemed to visibly hearten both Barris and McCall.

Looking back up at DRADIS, Kelso saw several regions of distortion and static beginning to creep across the display.

"We seem to be receiving some interference, sir," murmured Ensign Cole evenly as she scowled a bit at the screens.

Taking a deep, somber breath, Kelso knew all-too-well what the interference meant, even if Cole didn't.

Frustrated, enraged, he flexed his fingers.

"Radiation," he sighed, his pulse quickening a bit. "The Cylons have begun bombarding the surface of Libran. The plumes are kicking radioactive fallout into the upper atmosphere. Electromagnetic interference, gamma pulse, DRADIS is only going to get worse as it continues to spread."

As much as Kelso wished he could avoid thinking about it, the direct implication of his statement was clear.

Furthermore, the pain, sorrow and horror in Cole's face indicated she also understood.

Down below, on the surface, millions of people were dying.

_Millions_…

Worse still, there wasn't a damned thing they could do about it…

"We can't help them," muttered Kelso evenly, painfully as he read the sorrow in Cole's expression. "All we can do is protect the people we have aboard by finding a way to survive this."

As Cole looked across to him, eyes clearly pained, she nodded gently, then looked back up at the DRADIS as still more interference clouded the display.

"Raptor is skids up at this time," called Theo Cullen from the Operations station. "Designating as Raptor Three-One-One."

"Have we begun receiving the DRADIS feed from the Raptor?"

"Affirmative, sir, ready to sever link to Libran DRADIS network on your order," replied Cullen.

"Sever the link and shutdown DRADIS," said Kelso as he kept his eyes on the display overhead. "Switch the displays to the feed coming from Raptor Three-One-One."

"Aye, sir."

Overhead, the screen flashed for a moment as the view shifted from the wide-view feed from the extensive satellite network to the lone feed from the Raptor that would now be acting as their eyes.

"Barris, McCall, are you ready?"

The two exchanged a quick glance at one another, then looked back over to Kelso.

"Yes, sir," they answered in near unisons.

"Helm, bring us up slow and steady, ahead one-quarter," stated Kelso as he looked over at them.

"Ahead one-quarter," answered Barris as she nudged the throttles.

"Beginning deorbit maneuver, sir," stated McCall evenly a moment later.

Intently watching the DRADIS feed from the Raptor, Kelso watched as the Battlestar _Pacifica_ broke from the orbit she'd maintained for nearly forty years.

"Capshaw, get on the wireless, let the Raptor know we need to keep the planet between ourselves and the Cylons while we make our breakaway," stated Kelso evenly as he looked over to his one-time communications operator.

"Understood, sir," she replied as she removed her earrings and plugged the headset left behind by Lieutenant Cooper back into the console.

As the minutes ticked by, Kelso watched as the planet Libran slowly began to shrink away; the planet they'd once nearly died protecting was now protecting them as its once vibrant civilization withered under the Cylon bombardment, its death throes providing the critical DRADIS shadow that prevented them from being detected by the attacking Cylon ships.

With a lump in his throat, Kelso continued to watch DRADIS.

The Cylons had not yet closed into range, not that there was much that could be done if they had.

Armored hull or not, the _Pacifica_ still had no weapons, no Vipers, no FTL; if the Cylons spotted them, their fates would be the same as the myriad of smaller civilians ships slaughtered on the far side of Libran, it would just take a little longer.

As Kelso stood there at the plot table, his eyes never leaving the DRADIS, Ensign Cole slowly made her way up beside him.

"Sir, I was wondering, where are you planning to go?"

Although Cole had practically whispered the question, without a fully manned crew, CIC was quiet enough that everyone there had doubtless heard her question.

For a moment, Kelso didn't answer.

Then, gently biting the inside of his lip, Adrian's eyes narrowed.

Turning to look at Cole, he gently drummed his fingers, looked over at the other few veterans around CIC, then snatched up the handset from the side of the plot table and toggled the switch for engineering.

"_Franklin_," barked the old engineer as he picked up the line.

For a moment, Kelso could swear Franklin's voice sounded different, more virile…

Almost like it had forty years ago…

"Mike, we need a safe harbor," said Kelso evenly as he stood staring back up at the DRADIS.

"_You're the one flying this bucket, not me_," snapped Franklin gruffly, pausing to shout an order out. "_I'm just the one who keeps the lights on_."

Yeah, he was indeed reverting once again to the grumbling engineer Kelso had depended on so many years ago…

"I wanted your take on this something," replied Kelso evenly. "You still work at the reserve depot on Sagittaron, don't you?"

"_Till I can buy a boat and retire, or they fire me, why_?"

"I was thinking we might be able to push through to Sagittaron, try and find safe harbor there. What do you think?"

"_Sounds like as good a port as any, at least for now_," replied Franklin, his tone softening ever so slightly.

With good reason; Franklin's wife and two daughters, including Joshua and Alexander's mother, were on Sagittaron.

"Then keep those lights on for me, and I'll do my best to do the rest," replied Kelso as he hung up the handset.

As he looked up, Kelso caught sight of Ensign Cole watching him intently.

"Keep a weather eye on the screen, Ensign Cole," said Kelso, gently patting the young woman on the shoulder as he pointed up at the DRADIS screen.

With a nod, Cole settled in below the console and looked intently up at the DRADIS.

Stepping away from the plot table, Kelso made his way over to Theo Cullen.

"I presume you still remember how to use a grease pencil," muttered Kelso as he leaned in next to Cullen.

"Like everything else, it's been a while, but I think I can muddle through," replied Cullen, grinning slightly.

"Then I need you to muddle your way through plotting an evasive course to Sagittaron," continued Kelso as he glanced back at Cole and the DRADIS.

"Well, we're in luck," replied Cullen as he reached down and pulled out an overlay. "This chart is a little out of date, but, I should be able to pencil in any important changes, providing that Raptor crew out there doesn't bug out on us."

"They won't," said Kelso flatly as he reached out and gave Cullen a quick pat on the back. "Get us to Sagittaron, Theo."

With that, Cullen nodded his head and turned his attention to the chart.

Kelso then stepped back over to the plot table and settled in opposite of Ensign Cole.

After a few moments of relative silence, Cole leaned in over the plot table.

"Can I ask you a question, sir?"

"What is it, Ensign?"

"Why Sagittaron, sir? Why not Picon or one of the fleet rally points?"

"Two reasons," replied Kelso evenly as he looked across the plot table at her. "First, this isn't a combat vessel, so I want to keep us clear of the fighting. Second, there's an old reserve depot on Sagittaron, the mothball fleet is anchored directly overhead."

Returning his attention to the DRADIS, Kelso continued.

"Best case scenario, we slip _Pacifica_ in amongst the decoms and hide her there; shut her down, and wait, I can't imagine the Cylons would waste ordnance on a collection of unmanned, decommissioned hulks."

"And in the worst case scenario, sir?"

"I suppose we might be able to find a way to cannibalize some of the hulks for parts, maybe get our FTL back online to get us clear of the combat zone."

Ensign Cole nodded her head, returning her attention to the DRADIS overhead.

"How's that course plot coming, Mr. Cullen?" asked Kelso as he glanced back over his shoulder.

"Slowly but surely, Commander," replied Cullen as he continued to work on the overlay.

"Contacts!" snapped Ensign Cole.

Kelso's attention instantly snapped back to the DRADIS.

Sure enough, the display showed about half a dozen contacts at extreme range, traveling roughly perpendicular to their escape course.

"Capshaw, get on the wireless to the Raptor, we need ID on those contacts right now," snapped Kelso as he leaned in over the plot table.

"They're already on it, sir," replied Capshaw as her fingers moved across the Communications console.

Adrian Kelso's fingers began lightly tapping away the seconds as he waited for Capshaw.

"Raptor crew reports they've got IFF on the contacts; transponders tag them as a group of commercial ships; a freighter and some commuter liners."

Kelso took a deep breath as he considered the situation.

If they stopped to make contact with the civilian ships, they increased the risk of being detected by the Cylons; a cluster of ships was far easier to pick up on DRADIS than a single ship, even one as large as the _Pacifica_.

But, he also had to take into consideration the likelihood, no, the near _certainty_ that if the Cylons found the civilian ships that all the people aboard them would die.

Far too many people were already dying, an incalculable number of lives he was already powerless to save; Kelso couldn't abide the idea of simply abandoning those he still might be in a position to rescue.

"Order the Raptor to make contact with those ships," snapped Kelso. "Have them shut down their DRADIS and then guide them in for docking."

"Aye, sir."

* * *

******Combatstar _Savitri  
_****Rhapsody Station  
****Colonial Viper Flight Training Range**

Colonel Brianna Webber stood methodically leafing through the stack of communiqués in her hands. With each new message, it was becoming quite clear that all hell was breaking loose throughout the Twelve Colonies.

Over the last several hours, wireless communication channels, both military and civilian were becoming flooded with overlapping distress calls and frantic requests for rescue and assistance. Civilian and military assets alike were reporting widespread and catastrophic computer failures, losses of power, a long laundry list of malfunctions. From one end of the Colonies to the other, ships were being blasted from the stars, and now reports were coming in of nuclear detonations on the surfaces of Caprica, Picon and Scorpia.

For all the confusion, however, one thing was horrifically clear; the Cylons had returned in force.

Even as she fought to contain her growing dread, Colonel Webber also found herself grappling with another equally powerful reaction; helplessness.

Her command, the Combatstar _Savitri_, had been conducting flight qualification training for new Viper pilots at the Rhapsody Station flight-testing range when the attack began. Currently, there were six full squadrons-worth of Vipers and Raptors crowded down on the flight decks, trouble was, the overwhelming majority of the pilots for them were nuggets, basically qualified, yes, but very far from experienced.

Moreover, the _Savitri_ was in the middle of taking on another three full squadrons from the station; transfers bound for Picon offloaded at Rhapsody a few days ago from the Battlestar _Galactica_ before she set off towards Caprica for her decommissioning.

When the first reports of the Cylon attack had started coming in, Colonel Webber had contacted Rhapsody Station's CO, Admiral Ronas. Although Webber had expected Ronas to grant her permission to take the _Savitri_ into the combat zone to assist in a counterattack, Ronas had shockingly denied the request. The Admiral reasoned that there were doubtless still a good number of Battlestars and escorts in the fight. Moreover, Ronas had been quick to point out to Webber, and admittedly she was right in this, that _Savitri_'s mostly green pilots were nowhere near ready to be thrown into an engagement.

Still, as the situation continued to deteriorate for the Colonials, Webber's frustration continued to mount; surely there was _something_ more proactive they could do, she simply couldn't stomach standing by and watching from the sidelines.

Admiral Ronas must have begun to think as much as well, in the last hour she had ordered the personnel of Rhapsody Station to begin preparations for a full evacuation. Two freighters and a nearby tanker had already been diverted to assist _Savitri_ in the event Ronas did finally decide to pull her people out.

Webber could only hope that if an evacuation came there was still a place, or a fleet, to evacuate to.

"Mr. Beech, give me a status report," called Webber as she set the clipboard full of communiqués down on the plot board.

"All decks report Condition-One, primary and secondary batteries manned and ready," replied her XO, Major Tyson Beech.

"Status of the CAP, Lieutenant Golan?"

"CAP is up, Colonel," replied her Tactical Watch Officer as he stepped over with yet another printout. "Two birds aloft, four more are at alert-five."

"Very well," sighed Webber as she stepped over towards the main situation board.

Glancing it over, she watched as two petty officers used their grease pencil to mark out the latest series of reports on friendly and enemy positions and movements.

At last report, Admiral Nagala aboard the Battlestar _Atlantia_ had assumed command and was massing the remaining fleet for a counterattack near Virgon.

As for Webber, her ship and her crew, all they could do for now was wait, watch, and pray.

* * *

******Battlestar _Pacifica_ Museum  
****Near Libran Colony  
**

Adrian Kelso looked up from the course overlay on the plot table as one of the Marines from the Honor Guard, his dress gray uniform coat now absent, escorted five civilians into CIC.

At his request, Lieutenant's Lee and Cooper aboard Raptor Three-One-One had made contact with the small civilian flotilla and guided them in for docking along _Pacifica_'s flight pods. A total of five ships had docked, a freighter and four passenger liners.

As the five civilian captains made their way up to the plot table, it wasn't hard to see the frankly dubious expressions they were casting about as they looked at smattering of aged faces around the area.

"I'm Adrian Kelso," he stated simply as he extended a hand towards each of the captains. "Welcome aboard the _Pacifica_."

"Well, we're damned glad we ran across you," began one of the civilian captains, from the grungy overalls, likely the one from the freighter. "Must admit it's nice to see a Battlestar with all these Cylon ships buzzing about."

"Don't get too comfortable yet," sighed Kelso as he crossed his arms and leaned back against the plot table. "As you might have guessed by now, this _isn't_ an active duty Battlestar."

Indeed, thought Kelso lightly, save for Ensign Cole, no one in CIC was under the age of sixty, much less wearing a Colonial uniform.

"This is the museum ship, isn't it?" asked one of the passenger liner captains as he glanced around at the veterans manning CIC.

"Yes it is," replied Kelso simply. "You might say we've commandeered her for the moment."

As he said that, the expressions on each of the five civilian captains became somewhat dour, clearly they were contemplating nothing more than turning around and leaving CIC without another word said; an understandable reaction considering the fact that the Colonial justice system held a pretty grim view on piracy.

"Gentleman, I don't have time to mince words here, so let me be blunt," sighed Kelso as he straightened up and moved around to the far side of the plot board. "We broke orbit when the Cylons hit Libran and are heading for the reserve depot at Sagittaron. Our Raptor made contact with you so you could offload your crews and passengers here where they might be safer."

"Why are you moving at sublight?" asked one of the other liner captains pointedly.

"FTL systems are not functional right now," replied Kelso evenly as he looked down at the overlay showing their intended course. "That's one of the reasons we're heading to the depot; there may be parts there we need to get the system back online."

For a moment, none of the civilian captains said a word.

Looking up from the overlay to them, Kelso realized he was rapidly growing tired of people thinking he was a lunatic.

"With all due respect, Mr. Kelso, we can't just abandon our ships," stated the freighter captain, lightly scratching his scalp as he spoke. "We're financially responsible for them and our cargo."

Now Kelso was the one who was shocked; Cylon Raiders were ripping their way along the commercial lanes, pounding civilian ships by the dozens, killing tens of thousands of people, and they were worried about _financial_ liabilities.

"I don't think you gentlemen are quite grasping the gravity of this situation," said Kelso flatly, resisting the urge to call them fraking morons right to their face. "This isn't an isolated group of terrorists or pirates; this is a full scale Cylon attack that has already cost millions of lives, possibly _billions_ by this point."

For a moment, Kelso stood looking at the five captains, unsure whether they were digesting what he was saying to them or simply trying to find a tactful was of telling him 'no, thanks, we're going to go now'.

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Kelso leaned forward onto the plot table and was about to launch into a mild chiding about how they needed to make a decision when Ensign Cole stepped up beside him.

"Commander, with your permission, I may have a suggestion."

Kelso looked down into her young eyes, and was instantly disarmed by them.

"Okay, Ensign, you give this a shot," he said evenly.

Glancing back over at the five civilian captains, shaking his head slightly in dismay, Kelso stepped aside a bit as Ensign Jinara Cole leaned in over the plot table.

"Your ships have FTL's aboard, correct?" asked Ensign Cole as she looked across at the five civilian captains.

"Yeah, we do," replied the freighter captain. "We've had them spooled up since this whole thing started, just didn't have any real idea where to go."

"Perfect, how about we compromise then," continued Cole as she looked down at the overlay. "It's going to take us a few hours yet to make it to Sagittaron at sublight, especially since we're avoiding the main commercial lanes."

"Here's my proposal; you offload your passengers and non-essential crew to _Pacifica_; even at sublight speeds, they'll have a better chance here than with you. Once that's done, you take your ships, execute a jump to Sagittaron, so far there are no reports of significant Cylon activity in that area. Once you make it to Sagittaron, make contact with the depot, let them know we're coming, see if they can get together the parts _we_ need to get our FTL back online."

Looking back up from the plot table, she again looked across at the five civilian captains.

"Everyone's happy; you'll be relieved of the _liability_ for all those lives, and you _don't_ have to abandon your ships or cargo."

With that, Ensign Cole looked back over at Kelso, silently asking if he approved.

For his part, Kelso grinned and began to nod.

"Damned fine idea, Ensign," he said, looking up at the five captains. "Well, what do you gentleman think? And let me remind you, the clock _is_ ticking here."

To emphasize his point, Kelso gently tapped his finger against the face of his wristwatch.

Each of the five captains stood silent for a moment, looked about at the aged crew around them, then at Ensign Cole, then back to Kelso.

"Gentleman, the longer we wait, the longer your ships remain docked along our flight pods, the larger a DRADIS signature we have for the Cylons to detect," prodded Cole as she pointed up at the display overhead. "And if the Cylons _do_ attack, we'll all be royally fraked…"

She paused and looked back over at Kelso.

"…if you'll forgive my language, sir."

"Couldn't have put it better myself," shrugged Kelso as he looked expectantly across at the five captains.

With that, all five seemed to come to the simple realization that Adrian Kelso and his young XO might be crazy, but they were also correct.

"Well, company be damned, my people aren't about to die for bunch of coffee and some designer underwear," stated the freighter captain flatly, shaking his head as he spoke. "I'll have as many of them as I can spare transfer over immediately, then we'll jump ahead to Sagittaron, let them know you're on your way."

Each of the other four captains quickly followed suit.

"Good to hear," beamed Kelso. "Now as you might imagine, we're a little shorthanded, so if any of your people can help keep this ship moving, their help will be greatly appreciated."

"Well, I guess you're in luck then," piped up one of the passenger liner captains. "We were chartered to carry a group of engineering techs out to the Scorpion Shipyards, they might be of some help."

"They would be indeed," nodded Kelso. "As for the others, we can move them in with the others we have aboard in the more protected areas of the ship."

"All right, let's get everyone moved over," interjected the freighter captain as he waved the others to follow him back out of CIC.

As the captains disappeared out of sight, Kelso turned and looked over at Ensign Cole.

"That was one hell-of-a good idea you had there," grinned Kelso.

"My father served on a freighter," began Cole as she looked back to him. "Civil sector has those people so scared to lose their ships or cargo they'd almost rather go down with them than leave them behind."

"Commander, I think you'd better take a look at this," interrupted Aria Capshaw as she stepped down from the communications station with a printout in his hand.

"There's _still_ paper in the printer?" half-chuckled Kelso.

"Someone must have left a ream in the tray," replied Capshaw, her tone sullen despite Kelso's attempt at levity.

Sheepishly removing a pair of glasses from his left breast pocket, he hated having to wear glasses, Kelso looked over the communiqué.

"Frak me," he muttered. "Is this confirmed?"

"It's being transmitted in the clear, sir, no encryption," replied Capshaw, wiping a small tear from her eye.

"Then we need to get those people over quickly, and get the hell outta here, fast," stated Kelso evenly as he tossed the communiqué down onto the plot board.

As Kelso made his way across the CIC to the upright situation board, Ensign Cole picked up the communiqué and glanced it over.

"_Caprica City and Picon Fleet Headquarters destroyed; no reply to President Adar's offer of unconditional surrender; all remaining units rally in accordance with Emergency War Plan Orange for immediate counterattack under command of Admiral Nagala, BS _Atlantia."

Looking up from the message, Ensign Cole saw that Kelso had stepped back over to the plot board and was watching her. Her hand shaking slightly, Ensign Cole set the communiqué back down on the plot board.

"What are we going to do, sir?" she asked simply. "After we get to Sagittaron, I mean."

"We do whatever it takes to survive this," replied Kelso evenly as he picked the communiqué back up. "And we pray."

* * *

******Combatstar _Savitri  
_****Rhapsody Station  
****Colonial Viper Flight Training Range  
**

Colonel Brianna Webber held desperately onto the plot board as another jarring impact reverberated through the _Savitri_. Off to one side of CIC, a panel exploded in a shower of sparks, the hapless crewman manning it sent tumbling back across the deck. Convulsing where he lay, burns marring his face and hands, he let out a blood-curdling scream as another crewman rushed over with a medkit.

Looking up at the blank DRADIS screen, Webber bit down on a curse as another impact shook her and her ship to the core.

It had only been a matter of minutes now since DRADIS had first detected the Cylon Basestar jumping into range of Rhapsody Station. But as Webber began issuing orders to bring _Savitri_ about to engage the enemy, power throughout the ship crashed, sending CIC into the relative darkness of emergency battery-powered lights.

With no propulsion and no weapons, her ship adrift and under fire, the last thirty seconds had been the most terrifying moments in Colonel Brianna Webber's soon to be extinguished life.

* * *

**Battlecruiser _Enceladus  
_**

"Main bow batteries have a firing solution, Colonel," called Lieutenant Thorpe.

"Commence fire, all bow batteries, execute," called Colonel Runel.

His eyes locked intently on the DRADIS, Runel mused on how quickly situations changed in combat.

Once the power and computer systems had been restored aboard _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_, Runel had ordered Gunstar Group Seventy-Three to FTL to Rhapsody Station in order to dispatch a message to Picon Fleet Headquarters regarding their engagement with the Cylons and the destruction of Armistice Station.

The moment they'd emerged from the FTL, however, priorities had instantly changed.

As expected, DRADIS had readily detected Rhapsody Station itself, as well as the Combatstar _Savitri_ holding position nearby.

What they hadn't expected to find was a Cylon Basestar launching missile after missile at the apparently powerless _Savitri_.

"Still no contact with _Savitri_ or Rhapsody on wireless, Colonel," called Petty Officer Templeton.

"First things first, are we still in contact with _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_?"

"Affirmative, Colonel, they're both reporting all systems nominal," replied Templeton a moment later. "They say they're in the fight."

"Helm hold course, maintain sustained rate from bow batteries," continued Runel. "Order _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_ to break formation and push out to the Basestar's Starboard flank."

"Aye, sir."

To Runel, the course of action was plain; they needed to quickly put pressure on the Cylons in order to force them to break off their attack on _Savitri_ and Rhapsody Station. As the _Enceladus_ sailed directly in towards the Basestar, the smaller, faster destroyers would essentially be making a wide turn around the Cylons, allowing the Colonials to strike the enemy from three directions simultaneously.

The Cylons, clearly surprised by the sudden arrival of Gunstar Group Seventy-Three, immediately turned away from the _Savitri_ and launched off a new volley of missiles directly towards _Enceladus_. Although _Enceladus_' ECM field managed to scramble several of the guidance systems, as before a few of the warheads were unaffected and slammed headlong into the frontal armor of _Enceladus_.

"New contacts, they're launching Raiders!" called Lieutenant Thorpe.

On DRADIS, Runel watched as the Basestar erupted with Raiders.

"Bow Batteries, rapid fire, alternate HE and flak loads."

Almost instantly, the dull thud of the bow batteries firing increased in tempo. As the _Enceladus'_ cannons continued to spew forth a torrent of fire, massive explosions began to pepper the space around the emerging Raider formations as the flak loads filled space with a lethal hail of shrapnel. Moreover, every other round being sent up by _Enceladus_ was a heavy anti-ship projectile that cut through space, smashing unimpeded through any enemy fighter hapless enough to be in the way before slamming headlong into the Basestar itself.

With their broadsides now in a perfect position to deliver a withering fire, the defensive cannons on the flanking _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_ likewise opened up, sending a hail of fire directly into the flank of the advancing Raider formation.

Suddenly, the Basestar and its accompanying Raiders jumped…

And emerged behind _Enceladus_, just beyond optimum engagement range.

"Helm, hard a-Port! Bring us about for a full broadside," called Runel as he watched the Raiders move into a defensive position around their Basestar. "Order _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_ to continue ahead, establish a point defense position near _Savitri_ and Rhapsody Station."

_In case we fail_, thought Runel to himself.

In an instant, the Cylons had changed the tactical situation.

Rather than allowing themselves to be boxed in, they'd jumped out beyond engagement range in order to regroup for a more concerted attack. Deploying _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_ to defend _Savitri_ and Rhapsody Station would, hopefully, deter the Cylons from pressing their attack on the powerless Combatstar and Station, however, it also meant that _Enceladus_ would once again be grappling with a Cylon Basestar and its Raiders alone.

As he watched the Raiders spread out into a wide formation, a veritable wall in open space, Runel took a deep, steadying breath.

Per his order, the _Enceladus_ brought her nose around, bringing the ship parallel to the line of Raiders; if they moved in, they'd be flying right down a full-on broadside from the battlecruiser's barrels.

A surreal standoff ensued with the _Enceladus_ on one side and the Cylons holding position on the other.

And then the wall of Raiders rushed in.

As the enemy craft charged headlong towards the _Enceladus_, each of the Raiders launched off a barrage of missiles towards the battlecruiser.

"Incoming ordnance!" shouted Lieutenant Thorpe.

His eyes locked on DRADIS, Runel couldn't help but do the math…

Two hundred Raiders…

One _Enceladus_…

Some days it just sucked to get out of bed…

"All batteries commence suppressive fire," said Runel evenly, swallowing the significant lump in his throat. "I want my sky filled with flak."

Instantly, the dull drone of the defensive guns throwing up a wall of shells, complemented by the heavy, cadenced thud of the heavy batteries firing reverberated throughout the _Enceladus_.

It was now a contest of attrition.

Could the _Enceladus_ shoot down enough Raiders to survive?

Or, would the Cylons be able to overwhelm her defenses by sheer numbers?

As the wall of shells combined with the hail of flak being put down by _Enceladus_' main guns slammed headlong into the Raiders and the bevy of missiles they'd begun to unleash, Runel watched in grim satisfaction as their representative icons began disappearing from DRADIS in vast swaths.

The guns were punching a hole in the attack.

But it wasn't stopping it entirely…

ECM was scrambling some of the missiles' guidance systems.

But not all…

Within moments, the first missiles slammed headlong into the midsection of the _Enceladus_.

"Maintain all defensive fires!" called Runel as the _Enceladus_ trembled beneath his feet.

Lieutenant Thorpe shouted a response, but Runel wasn't able to discern what the man said over the roaring of the impacts reverberating through the ship's hull.

Through the cacophony of impacts, the frantic cries of the crew, the low rumble of the _Enceladus_ being shaken to its keel, the piercing shriek of the automated fire alarm cried out through CIC.

Overhead, one screens automatically brought up a schematic of the _Enceladus_, several areas of the midsection now highlighted in red to indicate fires breaking out within the stout battlecruiser.

Runel barely had time to glance over the readout when another screen echoed out a different and far more urgent warning.

"Radiological alarm!" burst Lieutenant Thorpe, his voice finally piercing the thunderous echo of impacts against the hull. "Three missiles inbound!"

With the ship shaking around him, Runel had difficulty focusing his attention on DRADIS, his thoughts utterly preoccupied with simply holding onto the plot board tight enough to keep from being thrown to the deck again.

As his eyes briefly glanced at the screen overhead, the DRADIS flared with the distortion effect of three nuclear detonations.

But to his surprise, Runel realized that the _Enceladus_ hadn't been the target.

As the ship ceased pitching beneath his feet, Runel's eyes were finally able to focus in on the screen and saw that a vast swath of the approaching Raiders had been utterly pulverized.

Fired from the destroyer _Ikenga_, the three nuclear missiles had streaked past the _Enceladus_ and detonated amid the advancing wall of Raiders.

With the Cylon air wing now devastated, their attack all but shattered, the few surviving Raiders and the Basestar jumped away.

For a few moments, Runel simply stood silent at the plot table taking in deep, steadying breaths, his eyes locked on DRADIS, waiting to see if the Basestar or its remaining Raiders reappeared.

"Status," he finally called, his eyes still locked on the screen overhead.

"Multiple fires amidships, Colonel," replied Lieutenant Thorpe, his own breathing heavy and ragged. "DC teams already on scene."

"We don't have time for containment, Lieutenant," countered Runel. "Order all DC teams to evac those sections and initiate emergency venting."

"Sir?"

"_Now_, Lieutenant," snapped Runel adamantly. "The Cylons have jumped away but we can't afford to risk their returning while we're still fighting internal fires."

"Aye, sir."

With that, Lieutenant Thorpe briskly stepped over towards the Damage Control station to carry out Runel's order.

Undoubtedly there was chaos below decks; a fire aboard ship was one of the single greatest dangers to a vessel's survival. But this was one of those terrible moments where a ship's commander had to weigh the possible lives of a few against the concrete lives of many.

"DC teams have pulled back, airtight bulkheads have been sealed," choked Lieutenant Thorpe. "Ready to initiate venting."

"Do it," replied Runel simply.

As Thorpe toggled the switch over, the myriad of damage indicators on the DC panel switched back from red to green, indicating the fires had been extinguished by exposure to the vacuum of space.

It would be a while yet before Runel would know how many crewmembers might have been trapped in those sections and lost in the fire and vent action.

Worse still, he knew he wouldn't have the luxury of time to mourn them once he did know.

Reaching down, he snatched up the handset on the side of the plot table and toggled the switch over to Engineering.

"_Lidell here_," snapped the voice of the Chief Engineer as the other end of the line connected.

"How did we fare, Colonel?" asked Runel simply.

"_I'm not going to lie, we were still patching things back together from our last bout_," began Lidell, his voice gruff and tired. "_The cleanup amidships will probably be a double bitch now. But, we've still got the mains running and there appears to be no damage to the tylium storage or transfer systems_."

"Just keep us in the fight, Colonel Lidell," stated Runel as he hung up the handset.

Taking another deep breath, Runel continued to eye the DRADIS.

"Mr. Templeton."

"Yes, Colonel?"

"Get on the wireless to _Ikenga_-Actual," began Runel as he swept the beads of sweat away from his forehead with his sleeve. "Verify that they were the one who fired those nukes."

"_Ikenga_-Actual confirms the launch, Colonel," replied Templeton a few moments later.

Even with proximity safeties engaged on the warheads, firing nukes that close to a friendly vessel had been a damned risky decision on Major Jasper's part. Nevertheless, Runel couldn't argue the results, it _had_ shattered the Cylon advance and apparently forced a retreat; no small feat considering.

"Extend my appreciation to _Ikenga_-Actual for her assistance," began Runel evenly as another bead of sweat rolled down his cheek. "And then relay my direct order for her to _never_, _ever_ pull a stunt like that again."

"Aye, sir."

* * *

******Colonial Fleet Reclamation and Reserve Maintenance Depot  
****Sagittaron Colony  
**

Director Paul Bess, in spite of feeling as though he were walking the thinnest tightrope in history, couldn't help but feel a measure of satisfaction over what his people had managed to accomplish in these last few hours. As everything regarding the Cylon attack seemed to be going from bad to abysmally worse, Bess had quickly assembled together his supervisors and advised them of what he intended to do; they were going to evacuate the boneyard.

With virtually no protest from his supervisory staff, Bess put them and the over twenty-four hundred personnel under his authority to work preparing that evacuation. With the vast bulk of the people working for him being former Colonial military, they were accustomed to orders and hierarchy.

To them, Paul Bess was the Commander, and he'd given them their orders.

And as the old saying went, 'when all else fails, stick with what you know'.

In one very relevant respect, the personnel at the depot were fortunate; most of their immediate families were stationed there with them, living within the small community beyond the perimeter. Indeed, many of the civilians now clustered out at the airfield gates had turned out to be the family of personnel working the boneyard, and that fact alone seemed to be providing his personnel with all the motivation they needed to put his evacuation plan into effect.

First came the priority of gathering supplies and equipment, a task eased by his decision to 'commandeer' the stockpiles stored at the fleet preposition warehouses. Boxes and crates of food rations, basic sundries, even some surplus uniforms items and bedding had all been moved over to the airfield in short order.

But even as they did so, the relevant question of _where_ those supplies would eventually be moved to came to the forefront.

To answer that, Bess had only needed to point to the sky.

So it was that the former Battlestar _Asterica_, and Assaultstars _Limnos_ and _Kilkis_, till this morning fated to be scuttled as targets, were suddenly given a new lease on life by Paul Bess. Although they were unarmed, their weapons mounts having been removed long ago when they were decommissioned, they were nevertheless large, armored and mobile; by Bess' reasoning, they were the perfect lifeboats for the thousands of people pouring into the boneyard to escape to.

With Captain Jordan Gaines and her Marines working to contain the ever-growing gaggle of civilians assembling outside the airfield gates, Paul Bess had next contacted the town council and advised them of his plans to evacuate. For their part, the council members had been on the verge of panic over the Cylon attack, the remoteness of their community leaving them with little hope the fleet would be able to defend them. When Bess informed them of his plans for an evacuation, they'd seized onto the hope it provided and immediately pledged their support for the plan.

Within minutes, the local police and emergency personnel arrived and were now assisting with the preparations, their support going a long way towards making Captain Gaines and her Marines' job of keeping the peace out at the landing field easier. With a semblance of order being imposed upon the situation, the civilian ships and refurbished Raptors were soon shuttling the amassed supplies and refugees to the three decoms in orbit.

One thing Paul Bess felt very much thankful for under the circumstances was the presence of the Combatstar _Proteus_. Having only just arrived for her decommissioning, unlike the others, _Proteus_ still had her full weapons package installed. While the ammo supplies at the preposition depot were limited, it was better than nothing at all.

What had proven more problematic for Bess was convincing Major Amanda Tyle, the _Proteus_' CO, of the merits of his plan.

"_You denied my request to depart so you could pack my ship with refugees_?" she'd scoffed when Bess got her on the wireless. "_This is a combat vessel, and there is a war on_."

"Major Tyle, I'm only going to ask you this nicely one more time," Bess had replied, his fingers wringing tensely around the handset. "Are you prepared to assist us in this evacuation or not?"

"_No, Mr. Bess, I am not_," Tyle replied flatly. "_I have no intention of taking civilians aboard when I intend to take this ship into combat_."

"Then you agree that this _is_ a combat situation?" stated Bess evenly, seeing an opening of sorts. "You agree that we are, in fact, at war?"

"_Yes, sir, I do_," replied Tyle evenly.

Bess smiled coolly.

"In that case, Major, I hereby _order_ you to assist in our evacuation operations," snapped Bess. "You are to make a ready deck to receive refugees and supplies, and you are to immediately dispatch your full complement of Raptors to the surface to assist in our efforts down here."

"_You _order_ me_?" scoffed Tyle, barely able to suppress a sardonic chuckle. "_Under what authority do you presume to give me any orders, sir_?"

"Under my personal authority as a retired Commander with twenty-two years of service in the Colonial Fleet," replied Bess flatly. "As you know, Major, any retired officer of the Colonial military is subject to recall back to active duty in their former capacity in time of military emergency."

"Now you yourself just agreed with me that the current situation fits the definition of open war, I _must_ assume that my commission has been reactivated in accordance with the received Emergency War Plan Orange notification until such time as I am informed otherwise by proper, _higher_ military authority."

"In addition, Major, as both a command level officer of sufficient rank to operate under brevet authority at a flag position, of which you yourself are _not_, and as the operational authority of this military shore installation, I am _your_ final authority until such time as I am relieved of either position."

"Now, do I have to issue my order one more time, or should I have the commander of my Marine detachment make preparations to forcibly relieve you of command of _Proteus_?"

For a moment, Tyle did not reply.

On the one hand, by getting her to admit that this was in fact 'a war', he had surreptitiously maneuvered her into a corner for his verbal hammer-blow. On the other hand, he was absolutely correct in everything he'd said.

And from her silence, Tyle knew it.

"_I'll be dispatching our Raptors to assist in the evacuation immediately, Commander_," stated Tyle evenly.

Bess smiled.

He now had four ships to evacuate to.

* * *

******Battlestar _Pacifica_ Museum  
****Near Libran Colony  
**

Adrian Kelso stood watching the DRADIS screen as the five civilian ships continued to move away from _Pacifica_.

In relatively short order, the civilian passengers from the ships had been moved very quickly over from the liners and freighter to the more protected areas of the _Pacifica_. True, it was getting a bit crowded below decks, but it was still safer for them than being stuck aboard one of the thinly-hulled civilian crates.

For his part, upon learning of the engineering technicians aboard the civilian charter Mike Franklin had expressed what can only be described as laconic elation; grateful for assistance, but still a curmudgeon in temperament. Moreover, the civilian captains had transferred over a good number of their support crews as well, retaining only the bare minimum number of bodies they needed to keep their ships running while they jumped ahead to Sagittaron. Very much thankful for the additional help, Kelso had very quickly assigned most of them to augment his decidedly diminutive CIC staff

And none too soon, either.

The Raptor's DRADIS feed was now showing two Cylon Raiders closing in at extreme range.

"Mr. Cullen, are the civilian ships ready to perform their FTL jump?" asked Kelso evenly as he watched the two Raiders closing in.

"Affirmative, sir," replied Cullen. "The Cylons are still at maximum DRADIS range, so they shouldn't even see them yet."

A moment later, the five civilian ships disappeared from the DRADIS screen.

"They are away," stated Cullen evenly.

"Any indication the Cylons detected them?" asked Kelso evenly.

"None, sir, they haven't changed course at all," replied Cullen.

"Okay, now it's time for the big gamble," muttered Kelso as he looked across to Ensign Cole, reached down and picked up the handset on the side of the plot table and toggled the switch to buzz main engineering.

"_Franklin, here_."

"Mike, I need you to shut down the mains," said Kelso evenly as he eyed DRADIS.

Everyone in CIC, Ensign Cole included, looked over at him in shock.

"_Uh, confirm you said 'shut down the mains', sir_?"

"Affirmative, shut them down now, we need to cut our energy emissions to zero," replied Kelso as he watched the two Raiders near direct DRADIS detection range.

"_Aye, sir, shutting down_," sighed Franklin.

Instantly, all around CIC, the lights died, computer displays went blank, the sound of the ship's power waned.

"Sir, can I ask what it is you have in mind?" muttered Ensign Cole apprehensively.

"The only thing we _can_ do," replied Kelso evenly as he glanced around at the other faces around the darkening CIC. "With the engines up, we put out an energy wake the Cylons will be able to detect and track with infra-red."

Looking back up at the blank DRADIS screens, Kelso began nervously biting the inside of his lip.

"Without any guns, right now our only hope is for the Cylons to think we're little more than a rogue asteroid or maybe debris."

"But what if they close to visual range, won't they be able to see we're _not_ some aimless asteroid?" asked Cullen as he stepped over to the plot table.

Kelso mulled that for a moment.

"Helm, do we still have emergency thrusters?" asked Kelso.

"A few short bursts," replied McCall, shrugging slightly. "With power down, evasive maneuvering is out."

"We don't need to evade if we're playing dead," replied Kelso evenly as he held up his hand and began twisting it demonstratively. "Send us into a spin, slow, but uncontrolled, make us _look_ dead."

"Aye, sir."

Ensign Cole stood looking across to him, her features barely illuminated under the emergency lights.

"If they _do_ close to visual range, hopefully they'll just see us as a dead Battlestar, already out of action and, hopefully, not worth wasting the ordnance," stated Kelso as he looked up reflexively, anxiously at the blank DRADIS screen.

"What's to keep them from simply blowing us up just to be certain?" asked Cullen evenly as he leaned on the plot table.

"Nothing," replied Kelso simply.

As he said as much, Kelso couldn't help but remember that last terrible time he'd been in _Pacifica_'s CIC while the power was down.

…Four decades after the fact and he swore he could still almost feel the deck beneath his feet quaking under a Cylon barrage…

Taking a deep breath, willing the ghosts in his memory away, Kelso made his way over to Capshaw at the Comm station. Without a word, Capshaw handed an emergency wireless headset over to Kelso. As he placed the headset into place over his right ear, Kelso made his way back over to the plot board.

"How long do we wait, sir?" asked Ensign Cole.

"That depends on the Cylons."

* * *

**Colonial Raptor Three-One-One  
**

"Nothing, I've got no wireless contact at all," muttered Lieutenant Lee as he scurried up into the Raptor's co-pilot seat.

"They must have lost power," noted Lieutenant Cooper as he looked out at the darkened _Pacifica_. "Damn, we should have known this crazy plan wouldn't work, that ship's systems are so fraking old, they were bound to crash."

"She's started listing," stated Lee as he pointed out at the powerless Battlestar.

Sure enough, the _Pacifica_ had begun to slowly tumble, spinning along its axis as the nose pitched downwards.

"She's completely out of control," muttered Cooper as he gently shook his head.

Looking away from the listing _Pacifica_, Lee glanced down at the DRADIS.

"Well, maybe…son-of-a…" muttered Lee as he glanced over at a few other readouts. "Maybe Kelso's _not_ so crazy after all."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, look at the readings," grinned Lee observed Lee, half-chuckling as he looked back up at the listing former Battlestar. "_Pacifica_ is little more than a mass shadow on DRADIS, no energy emissions what-so-ever,"

"I guess it's a thin line between crazy and genius," countered Cooper, his fingers flexing around the Raptor's controls. "It's up to the Cylons to decide which he truly is."

As they continued to watch, the two Cylon Raiders continued to loiter at extreme DRADIS range, apparently trying to decide whether the 'mass shadow' they were detecting was worth investigating.

Suddenly, the two Raiders vanished…

…And then reappeared near the listing _Pacifica_.

* * *

__**Cylon Raider  
**

_Detection, unknown contact, probable Colonial warship_.

Simple, ruthless and efficient, a Cylon Raiders' perception of the universe around it was tempered by its simple programming, something more akin to animalistic instincts than rational decision making.

By design, they were to follow a set series of protocols based on certain calculated outcomes and probabilities in whatever situation they encountered. In very real terms, their minds rationalized that if 'A' and 'B' were true then proceed to predetermined actions 'C' or 'D' with very little creativity or initiative beyond that, at least, not with the very little practical experience they had thus far acquired.

Quite simply, it was how efficient machines waged war.

So it was that when the pair of Raiders first detected the large mass on DRADIS, their simplified logic centers immediately recognizing the approximate dimensions as matching those of a Colonial Battlestar, the outcome dictated by their programming was to initiate an aggressive attack.

Turning to intercept, intent on fulfilling their directive to confront and destroy any Colonial warship they encountered, the Raiders confirmed with one another that the other was likewise prepared, then both spooled up their FTL drives; the assault would be far more difficult to counter and would have far greater impact if delivered at close range.

Jump complete.

Curious.

The Raiders were now well within weapons and interception range, and yet the contact was exhibiting no signs of evasion, no weapon systems were being brought online, no targeting solutions were being calculated, no fighters scrambled to intercept.

Unexpected.

The contact was not acting as a vessel capable of defending itself should.

Again the Raiders processed this through their simplified decision making procedures.

Neither Raider had transmitted the signal that deactivated the Colonial systems, and yet, this contact was already powerless and adrift, complete loss of attitude control indicated, no active energy emissions detected.

Conclusion; calculate a high probability that Colonial contact has already been neutralized by other Raiders and constitutes no further threat to Cylon forces.

Disengage attack protocols, continue search for viable targets.

* * *

Adrenaline surging through their tense bodies, the two Raptor pilots looked out, their hearts pounding as the two Raiders made a very close pass alongside the powerless Battlestar.

"Frak, frak, _frak_…" muttered Cooper as he watched the two Raiders streak along the listing behemoth.

"Shut up," hissed Lee, as if he truly believed the Cylons would be able to _hear_ Cooper through the breathless void of space.

Then, almost as an afterthought, Cooper rapidly toggled a few control on the Raptor's panel that rapidly shut down the craft's systems.

Now, like the _Pacifica_, they too were little more than a 'mass shadow' drifting in space.

As the two Raptor pilots watched the two Cylon Raiders continue to circle near the _Pacifica_, Lee muttered a few unintelligible prayers on whispered breaths.

Suddenly, the two Cylon craft veered away from the _Pacifica_ and raced directly towards the Raptor.

"Oh, frak!" burst Cooper as he reached for the control panel.

"No, wait!" snapped Lee as he slapped Cooper's hand away from the controls.

Out past the canopy, the forward-swept wings of the two Cylon Raiders shot past them.

Frantically, the two Raptor pilots glanced all around through the canopy desperately trying to relocate the two Raiders.

Jumping up from the co-pilot seat, Lee raced back to the side window on the entry hatch and looked out, barely catching a glimpse of the two Raiders as they suddenly disappeared in twin flashes of light.

Lee then let go of a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"They've jumped away," he sighed, practically collapsing against the bulkhead as he glanced back over at Cooper.

For his part, Cooper raised a hand to the side of his flight helmet, reflexively reaching towards the pounding in his temple.

"Un-_fraking_-believable," he muttered.

Walking with leaden feet, his heart pounding in his chest, Lee stepped back up to the co-pilot's seat and dropped down heavily.

"I think I need a clean pair of shorts," he muttered.

"You and me both," replied Cooper as he reached out and toggled the switches that brought the Raptor back to life.

Glancing apprehensively down at DRADIS, Cooper and Lee both saw with no small measure of satisfaction that the Cylon Raiders were no longer anywhere within range.

"Let's hope we never have to do _that_ again," stated Lee simply as he toggled the switch for the wireless.

"So say we all," whispered Cooper.

* * *

Adrian Kelso stood watching the blank DRADIS screen, as if by sheer force of will he'd still be able to see what was happening outside the hull of his ship.

Glancing around, he could see, even in the dim glow of the emergency lighting, that everyone else in CIC was waiting with equally rapt anticipation.

"_Raptor Three-One-One to_ Pacifica-_Actual_," crackled a voice over the wireless headset.

It was Lieutenant Lee.

"Raptor Three-One-One, this is Actual, send your traffic," replied Kelso as he pressed the headset closer to his ear.

"_Both Raiders have departed the area, DRADIS is clear, Actual_," stated Lee.

Kelso lightly thumped his fist against the plot board, smiled, and pulled the headset from his ear.

The collective tension around the CIC melted away at seeing Kelso's smile. Reaching down to the handset on the side of the plot table, Kelso toggled it over to buzz engineering.

"_Franklin_."

"Turn the lights back on, Mike," smiled Kelso as he glanced around at the relieved faces. "We've got to get this old girl to Sagittaron while our luck holds up."

* * *

******Combatstar _Savitri  
_****Rhapsody Station  
****Colonial Viper Flight Training Range**

Colonel Thadius Runel stepped aside momentarily to allow a group of rushing crewmembers by as he made his way along the corridor leading to _Savitri_'s Combat Information Center. Once the Cylons had withdrawn, they'd managed to establish emergency wireless contact with _Savitri_'s commander, Colonel Brianna Webber. Maneuvering the _Enceladus_ alongside the powerless Combatstar, they'd linked up with _Savitri_ in order to send over DC and Medical teams to assist with _Savitri_'s crew.

Turning a corner, Runel barely avoided being run over by a rushing DC team in fire suppression equipment, the racing cluster of crewmen barely visible in the dim emergency lighting.

Making his way a few more steps along the corridor, Runel soon caught sight of the somewhat jittery Marine standing post outside _Savitri_'s CIC.

Pausing, Runel presented his ID card to the Marine, a formality, but one he indulged for the sake of settling the clearly agitated young man's nerves. After a few moments, the Marine returned the ID card to Runel, rendered a respectful salute, spun open the securing latch, and opened the hatch.

Stepping into the equally darkened chaos of _Savitri_'s CIC, Runel noted the eerie absence of most of the sounds he normally associated with an active, operational CIC. Computer displays were blank, DRADIS was offline, and numerous service panels were open around CIC as technicians ran diagnostics on the electrical circuits inside.

In the dim light, Runel caught site of _Savitri_'s CO, Colonel Brianna Webber, standing at the plot table conversing with two of her officers. Glancing up, she caught sight of him standing at the entry hatch. Within moments, she finished speaking with the two officers, both of whom then stepped away to whatever task she'd charged them with completing. For a moment, she simply stood staring across the CIC at him, then absently motioned him over to the plot board.

"What the hell are _you_ doing here?" she asked unceremoniously as he stepped closer.

"Good to see you too, Brianna," he replied simply.

"Colonel Webber will do," she replied as she continued to peruse a stack of printouts. "You surrendered the right to use my first name over three years ago. Besides, I was under the impression that you _preferred_ following protocol."

"It _does_ have its place," he said, leaning in over the plot table. "And while we're on the subject, as I recall, it was _you_ who left _me_."

"Your memory was never very good," she quipped. "Probably why you keep that obsolete library of yours. In any event, I'm too busy to go through this with you right now."

"First off, it's an _antique_ library," corrected Runel, much to Webber's obvious annoyance. "And second; I'm not here to take a nostalgic stroll down memory lane."

"Then why _are_ you here?"

Runel and Webber stood simply staring at one another for a moment through the dim illumination.

"How go the repairs, Colonel Webber?" asked Runel evenly.

Webber let out a sigh and looked back down at the printouts in her hands.

"Most of the hard damage has already been patched," replied Webber as she took hold of yet another report from a crewman. "What we can't seem to solve is our current computer problems; none of the systems seem to want to come back online."

"So your computer systems crashed too then?" asked Runel as he looked about at the darkened CIC.

"What was your first clue?" she shot back acerbically, pausing for a second. "Wait, what do you mean '_too_'?"

"_Adroa_ and _Ikenga_ suffered a similar computer crash when we ran into a Basestar out at Armistice Station," replied Runel as he leaned slightly on the plot table. "Cylons sent out a transmission right after we jumped in; both ships lost power instantly, almost like someone had just thrown a switch."

"How'd they get their systems back up?" asked Webber, absently wiping an errant lock of hair away from her eyes. "Wait a moment. _Golan_! Get your butt over here!"

Looking over his shoulder, Runel watched as a Captain, presumably Golan, stepped over to the plot board.

"Yes, Colonel?"

With a casual sweep of her hand, Webber pointed over to Runel, intimating that he continue.

"First off, forget trying to get the systems up as-is, there's a Cylon computer virus running rampant through your systems that you'll need to wipe the system hard drives to get rid of, a complete reformat," began Runel as he looked over to Golan. "When that's done, load the backups from primary memory storage."

"And what's to stop them from simply slipping another virus into our systems once we've done that?" asked Colonel Webber evenly.

"Best solution right now seems to be disconnecting every system from the ship network," replied Runel. "So far keeping the systems in stand-alone mode seems to be the only way to keep the Cylons from compromising them."

Golan hesitated for a moment, glancing over at Webber as if to confirm what Runel suggested was indeed what he was supposed to do.

"Get to it," she sighed.

"Aye, Colonel."

As Golan disappeared back into the veritable darkness around them, Webber looked back over at Runel.

"Is there anything else?" asked Webber impatiently.

"Admiral Ronas has ordered the evacuation of Rhapsody Station," said Runel evenly.

"I know, we've already begun receiving supplies, equipment and personnel transfers," replied Webber as she held up another small stack of papers.

"So have we," replied Runel.

"Yeah, well your crew isn't trying to load-in three squadrons onto an _already_ heavily loaded deck _without _the benefit of power," countered Webber, crumpling up one sheet and tossing it into a trash receptacle.

"True," conceded Runel. "But I get the feeling we'll be taking on a lot of new challenges we'd never expected to in the days, weeks, hell, maybe months to come."

Webber looked up at him, scowling slightly.

For a moment, neither said a word.

"So I take it you're still angry with me," he said simply, leaning in a little towards her.

"Is that really something you're worried about right now?" she scoffed, barely keeping her tone low as she spoke. "The world is coming to an end and all you're worried about is whether an old lay is still pissed at you?"

"I wouldn't have worded it so crassly, but, yes," replied Runel.

Webber waved a dismissive hand at him.

"The only thing I need from _you_, Thadius, is for you and those gunboats of yours to cover us while we get our systems back up, that's it," said Webber firmly, again wiping away the same errant lock of hair from her eyes.

"Well, it's nice to know I'm needed," replied Runel as he straightened back up. "No telling when that Basestar will reappear, or how many of its friends it'll be bringing back for the next dance."

With that, Runel turned and began making his way back to the entry hatch.

Stopping, he turned back to see Webber still watching him.

"It's good to see you again, Brie," he said simply.

For a moment, her expression softened at bit.

"Good to see you too," she replied.

Runel grinned slightly.

"Now, _please_, get the hell off my bridge."

* * *

******Colonial Fleet Reclamation and Reserve Maintenance Depot  
****Sagittaron Colony  
**

Lance Corporal Bowman let out a long, satisfying yawn.

Satisfying in that he _needed_ to yawn.

He was damned tired.

Flexing his fingers around the grip of his carbine, Bowman looked out at the gaggle of raving civilians still clustered around the gate.

"Frak, I'm tired," muttered the Marine next to him, Private Sati.

"I don't want to even hear it from you," growled Bowman as he glanced over at Sati. "At least you didn't just get off post this morning. Frak, my head had barely hit the pillow when they called 'REAC' and put us out here at the gate."

Reflexively, Bowman stomped his feet, the hard rubber soles of his boots making a dull thump against the airfield tarmac.

"At least it's not too hot this morning," muttered Sati as he reached up and gently tugged at the neck of his ballistic vest.

"Hot, cold, doesn't fraking matter," sighed Bowman as he continued to eye the civilians wearily. "All I know is I need some rack time."

Bowman let out another yawn, and, feeling a bit more frustrated by it, growled in annoyance.

"Why couldn't the Cylons attack when it was more convenient?" he muttered, looking up at the clear blue sky above.

"When exactly would it be 'more convenient'?" scoffed Sati. "In case you haven't heard, they're nuking the frak out of the core colonies right now. I've even heard some scuttlebutt that over half the fleet has already been knocked out of action."

"Lock it up you two," snapped a voice behind the two Marines, startling them.

Turning around, they found themselves looking directly into the indignant, if lovely eyes of Corporal Sera Lenore.

"Rumors are just that, rumors; you two just need to concentrate on keeping those people under control," snapped Corporal Lenore as she absently reached up and adjusted the slightly oversized helmet on her head.

"Aye, Corporal," smiled Bowman.

"Yes, Corporal," added Sati.

With that, Corporal Lenore continued off along the tarmac towards another pair of Marines a few yards off.

"What I wouldn't give to slide my hands along those hips…" began Sati as he stood leering at Lenore.

"One more word and I swear I will butt-stroke that thick skull of yours," warned Bowman as he glared over at Sati.

For a moment, Sati stood looking at Bowman, skeptical, even a bit surprised.

Finally, he simply shrugged and looked back over at the crowd.

Sergeant Gibbs was currently up in front of the crowd and using a bullhorn to shout out instructions to them until slowly, very slowly, the crowd began paying attention and formed up into a few lines at her direction.

Bowman looked from the crowd to the group of civilian ships sitting on the tarmac behind him.

The ships' engines were at high idle, preparing to take off.

An evacuation.

At his level in the food chain, that was about all he knew.

He was to stand there in full combat gear and keep the civvies in line, keep a riot from breaking out while they shuttled one shipload at a time into orbit.

He couldn't help but note the direct implication of that mission; he would be one of the last to leave.

He didn't like that idea.

But he had his orders.

Letting out another yawn, Bowman turned around, glancing over at Sati just in time to catch the Marine in the act of placing a pinch of moist tobacco leaves on the inside of his cheek.

"Give it up," he said, snapping his fingers and then motioning Sati to hand the pouch over.

Grudgingly, Sati handed the pouch to Bowman, who likewise took out a pinch-full of leaves and stuffed it inside his cheek.

Sati, obviously not thrilled at the amount Bowman had removed from the pouch, took back the pouch and slipped it into the cargo pocket on his thigh.

As the roar of the engines on one of the civilian liners behind him grew louder, Bowman spit out the ample tobacco juice in his mouth just as a gust of jet-wash kicked past, blowing dust, debris, and his spit, towards the gaggle of civilians.

As the gust died down, Bowman couldn't help but smile slightly as he caught sight of one of the waiting civilians brushing in clear disgust at a brown stain on the leg of his expensive suit.

Bowman might not know much about what was happening today, but at least he knew where his spit had gone.

* * *

The utility vehicle had barely come to a stop when Bess opened the door and practically leapt out onto the tarmac at the landing field.

Glancing around quickly, Bess could hardly miss the myriad of civilian ships off to one side of the field. Six were regular commercial passenger liners, another three were a mixed gaggle of freighters and lastly a handful of civil sector Search and Rescue Raptors that had managed to escape the conflagration of the major population centers.

While several of his personnel were feverishly packing the freighters with equipment and supplies, some from the depot's preposition warehouses, others culled from shops or stores in town. Off on the far side of the landing field, several long lines of people were being led over in groups to the liners and SAR Raptors for boarding and subsequent transport to the ships in orbit.

As he continued to glance around, Bess caught site of Captain Gaines as she stood conferring with three of her NCO's near the landing field's control tower.

Jogging over to her, Bess couldn't help but be bemused by the sight of the frankly small-statured Gaines decked out in full combat gear; helmet, ballistic vest, combat harness, carbine slung across her left shoulder.

"Captain Gaines!" called Bess as he stepped up to the Marine officer, just barely managing to make himself heard over the whine of the assembled ships' engines. "You have things under control here?"

"For the time being, Mister, I mean, _Commander_ Bess," replied Gaines, grinning slightly as she corrected herself.

Crisis or not, it seemed the rumor mill was still efficiently passing gossip…

As Bess gently shook his head, another Marine in full combat gear stepped up.

"Sir, this is Captain Robert Brenner, the CO of the Marine Reserve unit that was being ferried home," stated Captain Gaines.

"Sorry for the detour, Captain," said Bess as he shook the young officer's hand. "But, we sure do appreciate your help."

"My pleasure," replied Brenner. "Believe me, better to have these apes out here, boots on the ground doing something useful rather than cramped up aboard a transport with nothing to do but listen to the wireless."

As he continued to watch the activities around the tarmac, Bess caught sight of a couple of his depot personnel and a couple individuals in Colonial pilot uniforms removing a small aircraft from the cargo hold of one of the liners.

"What the hell are they doing?" snapped Bess.

"That's my doing, sir," replied Captain Brenner evenly.

"What is that, a Raptor?" asked Captain Gaines.

"A Scimitar actually," replied Brenner evenly as he watched the crew move the craft. "Close Air Support ship; we were on our way back from CAS training at Helene. I asked them to pull it out of the cargo hold; figured we could use the extra space for other supplies."

"Might come in handy for some area recon," interjected Gaines.

"Hopefully we'll be out of here long before we need to start worrying about that," countered Bess as he turned back to the two officers. "How goes the evac of the civilians?"

"So far we seem to have a pretty good handle on things, sir," began Gaines, slightly adjusting her slung carbine. "We're dividing the groups off into boarding sticks based on the load capacity of the transports."

"One boatload at a time," observed Bess as he watched the civilians being directed about by the Marines.

"Turns out, most of the people we had assembling at the gate were the families of your own personnel," continued Gaines as she looked back over at the lines of people on the edge of the tarmac. "Once they found out you'd ordered an evacuation, they became _quite_ cooperative."

"I'll bet they did, keep up the good work you two," replied Bess as he turned and headed over to the control tower.

Stepping in through the entry door, the ambient sound dropped off to virtually nothing, Bess took a quick breath and then proceeded up the stairway to the control tower. At the top of the stairs, he swiped his access badge through the card reader, waited for the indicator to turn green, then stepped through.

At the sound of the door opening, the control lead, Sal Coleman, turned around and motioned for Bess to come over.

"So what's so important you asked me to come over?" asked Bess as he casually glanced around at the myriad of DRADIS screens.

"Believe it or not we have five more ships requesting to land," replied Coleman, pausing a moment to acknowledge a wireless transmission over his headset.

"Did you advise them we were in the middle of an evacuation?" asked Bess as he glanced back over at Coleman.

"I did, but they asked to speak with the director of the depot," replied Coleman as he handed Bess a second headset.

As Bess slipped the headset over his ear and adjusted the mic, Coleman reached over to the wireless panel and toggled a switch.

"You're on, sir," stated Coleman simply.

"This is Sagittaron Depot, Director Paul Bess."

"_Mr. Bess, this is the freighter _Jester_, be advised I have some information for you_," replied the voice on the other end of the transmission.

"_Jester_, be advised, we are in the middle of emergency evacuation operations at this time," replied Bess.

"_We copy Director Bess, be advised, we are prepared to offer assistance in your evacuation_."

"Our field is a bit packed right now, _Jester_, but as soon as we have some space, we'll be glad for the assistance," replied Bess as he looked out at the line of civilian ships on the strip as a few began sealing their hatches for lift-off. "Are you prepared to offload your current passengers and cargo in orbit?"

"_Director Bess, be advised, we have already disembarked all passengers and non-essential personnel_."

"Copy that, _Jester_," replied Bess slowly as he looked over at Sal Coleman. "Where exactly did you offload them?"

"_We offloaded our people aboard the _Pacifica_, she's en route to Sagittaron at this time_."

Bess couldn't hide his surprise at that piece of information; neither could Coleman.

"_Jester_, did you say the Battlestar _Pacifica_ is en route here?" asked Bess evenly as he leaned forward onto the wireless console.

"_Not exactly, Mr. Bess_," replied the voice aboard the Jester. "_The ship en route is not the current active _Pacifica_, it's the original _Pacifica_, the Battlestar museum from Libran_."

Bess paused, glanced up at Coleman, and then looked back out at the landing field.

"Uh, _Jester_, would you care to explain that please?" asked Bess evenly.

"_Apparently the former crew were holding a reunion aboard her when the attack began_," replied _Jester_. "_They broke the ship from orbit and are en route at sub-light as we speak_."

"Isn't that about the craziest thing you ever heard?" muttered Bess as he glanced back over at Coleman.

"Any crazier than evacuating all these people up to a collection of derelicts in orbit?" countered Coleman with a grin.

"Point taken," mumbled Bess. "Clear those ships to land as soon as possible."

"We'll have space in just a few minutes, sir," replied Coleman as he pointed out at the line of ships.

"Director Bess to _Jester_, we have several ships preparing to depart at this time, coordinate with our control tower here for landing instructions."

"_We copy_," replied the Jester. "_Just one more piece of information we've been requested to pass on to you from _Pacifica_'s CO_."

"Go ahead and send it, _Jester_," replied Bess as he watched a few of the liners begin to lift from the tarmac.

"Pacifica_'s CO and Chief Engineer gave us a list of components they need to get their FTL systems back into operation and were hoping your people would be able to assist them_."

"We'll see what we can do to accommodate him then," replied Bess evenly. "Director Bess, out."

For a moment, Bess stood looking out at the ships lifting off the tarmac.

"Well isn't that a kick in the groin?" he muttered.

"_Pacifica_," huffed Coleman as he too watched the ships begin to ascend. "Wasn't Mike Franklin supposed to be at that reunion?"

"Unless I miss my guess, he's probably the 'Chief Engineer' who sent along the parts request," replied Bess as he glanced down at the crowd waiting at the gate. "I suppose I'd better look into whether his family is among the evacuees down there."

"Since he was kind enough to commandeer us another ship for the evacuation, I suppose it would be the least you could do," replied Coleman wryly.

Toggling the switch on the wireless console, Bess switched frequencies.

"Sagittaron Orbital, this is Sagittaron Control, Director Bess," he stated evenly as he casually watched the departing liners disappear beyond some cloud cover

"_Director? I thought you were going by 'Commander' now_," replied a voice Bess immediately recognized as Mark Shipman.

"Mark, listen, we've just received some hot information," stated Bess, ignoring Shipman's quip. "First off, though, are those ships up there ready to fly?"

"_I could spend a week and they wouldn't be 'ready'_," quipped Shipman

"I don't have the time, Mark," warned Bess evenly.

"_They'll do for what you've got in mind_," amended Shipman a moment later, picking up on the slight impatience in Bess' voice. "_Just keep the supplies coming_."

"Will do; now, I've got some news."

"_News, huh; how bad is it_?" asked Shipman simply.

"Good news, actually; looks like we may have another ship for our evacuation. The newest civilian arrivals tell me Mike Franklin and some of his veteran cohorts got the old _Pacifica_ underway before the Cylons hit Libran."

"_Well if that isn't a swift kick to Zeus' left testicle_," scoffed Shipman. "_You'd better not be frakin' with me on this one, boss_."

"She's supposed to be headed here right now, sublight only though," continued Bess, ignoring Shipman's crass blasphemy. "Think you might be able to scrounge together components to get their FTL back online?"

"_Depends on what they need, but I'm pretty sure we have the parts lying about up here_."

"As soon as I get the list I'll get it up to you so you can check; Bess out."

With that, Bess let out a long sigh.

"You know, Sal, I'm beginning to think we might actually be able to pull this off."

"Never would have pegged you as an _optimist_, Bess."

* * *

******Battlecruiser _Enceladus  
_****Rhapsody Station  
****Colonial Viper Flight Training Range  
**

"Isn't this a fraked up war," muttered Colonel Thadius Runel bitterly as he clutched onto the plot table.

All around him, the _Enceladus_' shuddered under a series of pounding impacts as Runel cast his eyes back up to DRADIS, focusing in on the four Cylon Basestars stalking in towards them.

"Templeton, get a hold of _Savitri_, find out how much longer it will be before they have their computer systems back on-line!" shouted Runel as the _Enceladus_ absorbed another series of punishing missile impacts.

As if in answer to his question, Runel watched on DRADIS as the _Savitri_ suddenly maneuvered out from behind the _Enceladus_ and unleashed a barrage from her defensive batteries, thankfully knocking down another set of missiles streaking in towards the beleaguered battlecruiser.

The _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_ had already broken formation with _Enceladus_ and were pushing out to try and flank the Cylon advance but it would still be several minutes before were in any real position to exploit such a maneuver.

The two freighters and tylium tanker which had also been assisting in the evacuation of Rhapsody Station were likewise maneuvering, though not into the fray but rather away from it; understandable considering their lack of any heavy weapons.

But from the outset, Runel understood all-too-well that one Combatstar, an already battered battlecruiser and two destroyers were no match for four fully operational Cylon Basestars and their complements of Raiders.

"New contacts; they're launching Raiders," called Lieutenant Thorpe urgently.

On DRADIS, Runel watched as dozens, tens of dozens, _hundreds_ of Raiders suddenly emerged from the Basestars and began racing in towards the beleaguered Colonials.

Clenching his teeth, Runel snatched up the handset on the side of the plot table.

"Put me on ship-to-ship, Mr. Templeton," he snapped as he held the handset up to his ear.

"You're on, Colonel," called Templeton as the ship shuddered under yet another series of impacts.

"This is _Enceladus_-Actual, all ships prepare to jump to prearranged coordinates," he said as another volley of missiles streaked in towards his ship.

"_This is _Savitri-Actual_, be advised, we still have personnel awaiting evac from Rhapsody Station_," countered Colonel Brianna Webber over the wireless.

"This isn't a _request_, Colonel Webber, it's an _order_; prepare to jump your ship now," snapped Runel angrily as the _Enceladus_ absorbed still more impacts.

"_I do not recognize your authority to issue that order_," snapped Webber.

"_Then recognize mine_," interjected another voice over the wireless.

It was the Commanding Officer of Rhapsody Station, Admiral Karee Ronas.

"_Under my authority, _Enceladus_-Actual is to take command of all forces until relieved by higher authority_," snapped Ronas. "_Now get your ships the frak out of here, Colonel!_"

Even before either Runel or Webber could respond, a barrage of Cylon missiles streaked past _Enceladus_ and slammed into Rhapsody Station. Over the open wireless channel, the sound of men and women screaming out in sheer terror echoed against the frightful sound of metal rending under stress, the ear-piercing intensity of the cacophony sending a cold shiver through Runel's body. As the screams intensified, the equally chilling sound of explosions and rushing air filtered over the channel until it suddenly fell mercifully silent.

On the DRADIS display, Runel watched as still more missile impacts tore into Rhapsody Station, an urgent alarm echoing out through CIC as the returns indicated the station was beginning to break up under the relentless barrage, at last succumbing in a massive detonation that sent debris hurtling every direction into the cold void of deep space.

With Rhapsody Station gone, _Savitri_, _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_ all acknowledged Runel's order and signaled they were ready for FTL jump. The two freighters and the tylium tanker also acknowledged the order, jumping away from the hellacious firestorm as several squadrons of Raiders vectored in towards them.

"Start the clock!" snapped Runel as he looked over at Lieutenant Thorpe.

"No, sir, we have to check for survivors!" snapped Thorpe as he practically ran towards the plot table. "There could still be people…"

Dropping the handset with a clatter onto the plot table, Runel shoved Thorpe aside and raced over to the FTL panel as another series of impacts slammed into _Enceladus_.

On DRADIS, _Ikenga_ and _Adroa_, followed closely by _Savitri_ all disappeared, jumping away per his order as the Basestars closed in on the _Enceladus_.

As he reached the panel, Runel quickly glanced over the readouts, verified that the rally point coordinates had been entered, that the FTL system was spun and ready, and then slammed his hand down onto the activation button. Looking back over at the DRADIS, Runel was immersed in the sensation of the ship executing the FTL jump. Reality itself, his own perceptions, everything seemed to both stretch and contract at the same moment, a bending of awareness that almost defied explanation to anyone who'd never experienced a Faster-Than-Light jump.

Within the span of a few moments, the _Enceladus_ went from being the focus of a harrowing exchange of fire to sailing unaccosted in clear, open space.

The change was so abrupt in fact that it alone threatened to unnerve Runel almost as much as the pounding of Cylon missiles.

Looking up at DRADIS, Runel saw that the Basestars, the Raiders, the shattered remains of Rhapsody Station, all of it, were now gone from the screen.

All that remained were the newly reappeared signatures of the _Savitri_, _Adroa_, _Ikenga_, the two freighters and the tylium tanker.

Bowing his head for a moment, Runel closed his eyes and whispered a prayer for the souls of those he'd been forced to leave behind.

Taking a deep breath, he then looked back up at the expectant faces around CIC. He knew he didn't need to defend his actions; truly, there had been no other alternatives but to make the jump.

Staying there and fighting would have been suicide.

Rhapsody Station was lost, the chance of survivors from the Cylon barrage far too low to even risk returning.

Nevertheless the decision to abandon them to the Fates still held an acute bitterness for him.

With a heavy heart, Runel knew his only choice was to keep moving forward.

Reaching down, Runel picked up a handset and toggled the switch for the ship's One-MC.

"All hands, maintain Condition One, all stations submit damage and casualty reports to CIC immediately."

Hanging the handset back up, Runel's attention slowly focused back in on Lieutenant Thorpe.

The young officer simply stood there, hunched over the plot table, sobbing openly.

Anger welling up in him, Runel practically vaulted back over to the plot table, and to the universal shock of everyone in CIC, grabbed hold of Lieutenant Thorpe. Snatching the man up by his lapels, Runel practically lifted the officer off his feet as he slammed him up against a nearby bulkhead.

"Don't you _ever_ question my orders on the bridge of my ship again, _do you hear me, Mister_?" shouted Runel ferociously as he looked Thorpe squarely in the eye.

As the junior officer stood squirming against Runel's grip, the Marine posted at the hatch broke from his shock and quickly stepped over, attempting to pull Colonel Runel off of Thorpe as several other crewmen rushed in as well.

Shrugging the Marine off, Runel let go of Thorpe, the young officer slumping back against the bulkhead, thoroughly stunned.

"You think I wanted to leave those people behind, Lieutenant?" burst Runel angrily. "You think I wanted to leave them to be slaughtered by the Cylons?"

"I'm sorry, sir, it's just, my sister," muttered Thorpe weakly, tears streaming down his cheeks. "My sister was still aboard Rhapsody; she was the only family I had left."

Runel, silent, his breathing still heavy, looked down at Thorpe. Slowly, he turned to look at the others around CIC, who themselves were likewise watching him intently.

He could tell by the looks in their eyes they never could have imagined seeing their CO so enraged.

Suddenly, Runel felt ashamed, as though _he_ had let _them_ down.

Looking again at Lieutenant Thorpe, Runel saw that the young officer was still trying to gather himself back together.

"Resume your post, Lieutenant," was all Runel could say as the man avoided the Colonel's gaze.

"Aye, sir."

Runel then watched as the visibly distraught Lieutenant Thorpe stepped back over to the Operations panel and dropped down heavily into the seat.

Taking a deep breath, Runel glanced one last time over at Thorpe, ran his hand through his sweat-dampened hair, then quickly stepped back over to the plot table.

"Isn't this is a fraked up war," he muttered bitterly.

* * *

******Battlestar Pacifica Museum  
****Near Sagittaron Colony**

Each time he heard a dull thump reverberate through the hull of the _Pacifica_, Adrian Kelso's ears perked up just a bit.

It wasn't that he was surprised by the sounds of the light impacts, it was more that he hadn't ever expected to voluntarily fly a ship, much less the _Pacifica_, into a situation where she would be subjected to such a continuous pelting.

But what else could be expected when one was hiding their ship within the tail of a comet?

Thus far, Adrian Kelso had been counting blessings on top of blessings that the Cylons had not found the FTL-less _Pacifica_ and blown her out of the stars. Indeed, ever since the near miss where he'd had no option but to shut down all the ship's systems and play dead, DRADIS hadn't picked up so much as a blip.

But while he was more than appreciative to the gods for the luck that had been bestowed upon them thus far, he wasn't about to push that luck by continuing to sail his ship in open space if he didn't have to.

So it was that as the _Pacifica_ came nearer to Sagittaron, the Raptor acting as their eyes and ears had picked up a rogue comet passing very near to their destination. Slipping the _Pacifica_ in behind it, concealing her within its vast tail of debris, Kelso gambled that even Cylon efficiency wouldn't necessarily anticipate so unorthodox a maneuver.

What he hadn't anticipated, however, was the curious sense of boredom he now felt as he paced slowly around the center plot table.

With little to do but watch and wait, most everyone around CIC was in the same proverbial boat as he was; nervous, bored, anticipating that something _could _happen at any moment, but at the same offering up prayers that nothing _would _happen.

The lull between the action…

Everything had come together so quickly, the escape from orbit around Libran, the efforts to evade the enemy, to have nothing to do now but wait was in its own way even more unnerving. And with nothing for the people around him to do but sit and think, the shock of their situation was beginning to wear off, and the understanding about the true, horrible magnitude of what was happening was now beginning to sink in.

The human race was being systematically exterminated by the Cylons.

Ruthlessly, efficiently…

Looking into the faces of his aged crew, the haunted looks in their eyes, it was clear, reality was beginning to hit home.

They were thinking of their own children, their grandchildren, those who weren't fortunate enough to have been aboard _Pacifica_ for the reunion.

With nothing to do but wait, their own thoughts were beginning to torment them.

At the helm, Eriana Barris stifled a sob as she cradled a picture in her hands; Aaron McCall reached across to console her, himself surreptitiously wiping a tear from his eye.

Kelso, seeing this, took a deep breath.

For his own part, he'd stopped listening to the wireless messages being broadcast in the clear; the news had simply become too grim.

Caprica, Picon, Scorpia were all but devastated by thermonuclear blasts. Tauron, Aerilon, and Libran had also gone silent; apparently they'd made their escape from Libran' orbit just before the arrival of more significant Cylon forces.

Further reports of nuclear attacks on Aquarion and Gemenon were relayed by Admiral Nagala's battlegroup just prior to their own apparent destruction during _Atlantia_'s abortive counterattack near Virgon.

Live broadcasts were becoming scarce as Colonial news networks and military units alike succumbed to what was clearly a widespread, well-planned and utterly ruthless assault by the Cylons.

No; 'assault' wasn't the right word, it seemed to imply a limitation of sorts which did not exist; this was genocide, plain and simple.

"ETA to Sagittaron?" he asked as he stepped back over towards the plot board.

"We're still about fifteen minutes out, sir," replied Theo Cullen as he lightly drummed a grease pencil on the Operations console.

"Capshaw, get on the shortwave wireless, have the Raptor push ahead, try and get a clear DRADIS picture, last thing we need right now is to stumble into a Cylon ambush."

"Understood, sir."

As he settled back in at the plot table, Kelso looked across at Ensign Cole. As he watched her youthful eyes continue to stare intently at the overhead DRADIS, Kelso couldn't help it when his thoughts began to dwell on his own son, Sean.

With most of the Colonies now little more than radioactive slag and the fleet all but destroyed, Adrian Kelso fought to keep from dwelling on the all-too real likelihood that his own son, his _only_ son, was amongst the staggering casualties. He tried not to dwell on the thought, but with nothing but his thoughts to torment him, Adrian Kelso found himself wondering if it truly was any sort of a mercy at all that they had managed to escape.

If only the gods could have bestowed that luck upon his son instead…

No; he didn't, he _couldn't_ mean that…

_His_ son might be dead, but those that _were_ still alive, the survivors huddled below decks, they _deserved_ to live every bit as much as Sean; he had _no_ right to entertain for even one moment the selfish desire that they'd suffered instead for the sake of tipping some unseen, ethereal scale in favor of his son's survival.

If it was for the gods to choose that his son die, he'd push himself through that terrible reality, do everything within his mortal power to ensure the survival of those now in his charge.

And when it _was_ indeed _his_ turn to die, he'd take up the issue of his own son's death with the gods face-to-face.

"Sir, Raptor Three-One-One is reporting a clear entry corridor to Sagittaron," called Peter Cullen.

Shaking himself from the lingering thoughts regarding Sean, Adrian Kelso looked up at the DRADIS feed.

Sure enough, no Cylon or other 'unknown' contacts were on the screen.

But while there was no direct contact with any Cylon ships, their presence was nonetheless keenly felt.

As the Raptor continued to close with Sagittaron, the telltale distortion effect of radioactive particles in the colony's upper atmosphere began to cloud DRADIS.

The devastation thus far appeared to be limited to the more densely populated regions on the far side of the colony, far removed from the surface installation that made up the Colonial Fleet Reclamation and Reserve Maintenance Depot. Moreover, the orbital annex and mothballed warships holding geosynchronous position above the Depot likewise seemed untouched.

His eyes narrowing, Adrian Kelso felt his pulse quicken a bit.

While the radiation being ejected into the upper atmosphere increased the likelihood that they'd be able to achieve orbit undetected, the reverse was equally true; any enemy vessels that were potentially lying in low orbit would be effectively hidden until it was far too late.

It was a gamble he had no real choice but to take.

Glancing away from the DRADIS screen, Kelso saw Ensign Cole looking over at him, or more precisely, over at his hand.

Looking down himself, he realized he'd subconsciously begun drumming his fingers on the top of the plot table.

"Sorry," he said. "Old habit."

Cole nodded slightly, then looked back up at DRADIS.

"Okay, moment of truth," sighed Kelso, looking out around CIC. "Barris, McCall, let's go ahead and bring her out of the tail, slow and easy."

"Aye, sir," replied McCall as he took hold of the vessels controls.

Barris tucked the photo back away in her blouse pocket, wiped a tear from her cheek and nodded.

Taking a deep breath, Adrian Kelso returned his attention to the DRADIS.

As the ship slowly emerged from the dense particle trail behind the comet, the constant rain pelting the former Battlestar's thick hide began to abate, finally ceasing altogether as the ship withdrew into clear space.

"Raptor Three-One-One is holding position, sir," called Theo Cullen as he set the grease pencil he'd been fiddling with down on the console. "Still no contacts on DRADIS."

"Here's to hoping there are no monsters hiding in the bushes," muttered Kelso as he continued to watch DRADIS intently.

"So say we all, sir," replied Ensign Cole evenly.

For several tense minutes, _Pacifica_ continued to creep closer to Sagittaron.

All the while, the distortions on DRADIS continued to worsen.

"Contact!" burst Theo Cullen.

His heart skipping a beat, Kelso's already hawkish eyes focused in even more intently.

"Correction, _multiple_ contacts," continued Cullen as the DRADIS picture intermittently cleared to show several 'unknown' icons hovering near their destination.

"Number and type," rattled off Adrian Kelso as his pulse quickened.

"Half a dozen contacts, close orbital range above the depot," replied Cullen.

"What _type_ of ships are they, Mr. Cullen?" asked Kelso as he keenly watched the 'unknown' contacts appear and disappear intermittently within the radioactive soup of Sagittaron's upper atmosphere.

"I'm not picking up any Colonial transponders, sir," replied Cullen as he continued to review the data on his screen. "But, their signatures are too large for Raiders."

"Capshaw, get on the wireless to the Raptor, order them in for a pass, make a visual ID on those contacts," called Kelso as he watched the signals.

"Should we hold our position here, sir," asked Ensign Cole as she leaned in over the plot table.

"We're already committed," replied Kelso evenly. "Even with all the disruption from the fallout, at this range they'll have already picked us up on their DRADIS. All we can do now is hope they're friendly."

"And if they're not friendly, sir?"

Kelso didn't answer; he didn't have to.

With the _Pacifica_ unable to jump away, if the contacts were Cylons, everyone aboard would have barely enough time to say a few abbreviated prayers before Raiders or perhaps even a Basestar jumped in on top of them and tore the unarmed ship to pieces.

As Kelso mentally counted the seconds in his head, he watched the DRADIS screen intently as the Raptor closed in on the contacts holding close orbit to Sagittaron.

"Sir, Raptor Three-One-One reports they've closed to within visual range," called Capshaw, a slight smile creeping across her lips. "The contacts appear to be several civilian freighters and passenger liners."

Letting out a distinct sigh of relief, Kelso likewise began to grin.

Reaching down, he grabbed up the handset on the side of the plot table.

"Get me a channel to those ships on wireless," called Kelso as he glanced over at Capshaw.

"No need, sir," replied Capshaw, letting out a half-chuckle. "We're already receiving a low-band wireless transmission from the surface."

"Pipe it here, please," said Kelso as he held the handset to his ear.

Initially, all Kelso could hear over the line was a heavy clutter of static hissing over the wireless; the radiation in the atmosphere was also playing havoc with communication; but soon a deep, authoritative voice cut through the static.

"…_I say again, this is Director Paul Bess, do you read me_?"

"Director Bess, this is _Pacifica_, we read you," grinned Kelso, pushing his free hand against his open ear to better concentrate on the garbled transmission.

Finally frustrated by the effort, Kelso reached down and toggled the switch to pipe the transmission to the overhead speakers in CIC.

"…_was beginning to wonder if you'd show_," continued Bess, his voice echoing out through CIC.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, did you get the parts request we sent ahead with the civilian ships?"

"…_affirmative…we have the parts you need to get you FTL back up_…"

"How quickly can you get the components up to us?" asked Kelso evenly.

"…_need to maneuver into…ry-dock B at the orbital annex…ark Shipman has teams ready to get the parts installed…sooner the better_…"

Glancing over at Barris and McCall, Kelso saw the two nod slightly as they altered the _Pacifica_'s approach, following the Raptor as it turned to lead them towards the dry-dock indicated by Bess.

"I don't suppose you have any other supplies you can spare," asked Kelso evenly. "When we pulled out of Libran, we did so with little more than the shirts on our backs…"

Kelso paused and looked down at his own civilian attire…

"…literally."

"…_already have teams…together supplies for you, we'll be shuttling…up to you within the hour_…"

"Well, I don't know how much the Ministry of Defense pays you, Bess, but I don't think it's enough; you're a life saver," continued Kelso.

"…_all part of the service_…"


	4. Part 3 - Defying the Fates

**Battlecruiser _Enceladus  
_****Near Emergency Fleet Rally Point 486SE**

Absently scratching at the bandage covering the stitches in his scalp, Colonel Thadius Runel stood looking over the latest series of damage and casualty reports.

Both the _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_ had come through the engagement at Rhapsody Station relatively unscathed, their maneuver out to the flank having removed them from the center point of the Cylon advance on the outpost. The _Savitri_, in maintaining its position with _Enceladus_ at the center of the action had taken some damage and casualties, but was still reporting their status as fully operational, their computer systems again up and running in stand-alone.

_Enceladus_, by contrast, had barely come through the engagement intact. Prior to actually dealing their deathblow to the station itself, the Cylons had clearly made taking the _Enceladus_ out of action their primary effort.

And they'd very nearly succeeded.

Although their jump had prevented the Cylons from delivering an outright deathblow to the _Enceladus_, the exhausted Damage Control teams had nearly lost the battle to put down the fires amidships. Raging throughout sections that had already been gutted by both the engagement at Armistice Station as well as their tangle with the first Basestar when they reached Rhapsody Station, physical damage had been so extensive that a full vent action had not even been possible, forcing his people to put out the flames compartment by compartment.

Casualties were heavy, and the fatalities were still being counted.

Included among the casualties was the _Enceladus_' Chief Engineer, Caiphus Lidell. Defying the fires raging out of control in the engineering spaces, Lidell had guided several injured crewmembers out of the area, only to return and seal himself inside the damaged compartment in order to isolate a ruptured tylium transfer line. Braving his way back through the flames, Lidell had literally sacrificed himself in order to shut down the entire tylium transfer system, preventing the ruptured line from adding literally more fuel to the fires. While Lidell's selfless sacrifice had prevented the _Enceladus_ from exploding from within, saving thousands, it also meant the battered vessel was dead in the water until repairs were complete, repairs that would have to be made without the benefit of their most skilled officer.

Although _Adroa_, _Ikenga_ and _Savitri_ had already deployed themselves defensively around the wounded battlecruiser, Runel was still none-too-comfortable with having his ship in so helpless a position.

Perhaps the only bright spot of the whole affair was that in spite of the loss of the Rhapsody Station itself, over two-thirds of the outpost's personnel as well as the station's entire complement of Vipers, Raptors and shuttles had been transferred over to Runel's battlegroup prior to its destruction. Furthermore, the two freighters and tylium tanker that had also managed to escape from Rhapsody with Runel's group carried a good number of vital supplies and fuel that was already being divided out amongst the surviving warships.

Bright spots…

With a heavy sigh, Runel set the thick stack of reports down and looked up at Lieutenant Thorpe, the young officer fully engrossed with directing the truly formidable DC efforts. Runel still felt a measure of regret over how poorly he'd handled the situation with Thorpe before.

Runel was an only child, a bachelor, his own parents long since passed away. For better or worse, Runel knew he was more-or-less insulated from feeling the full impact of the tragedy unfolding around them. He had some friends, to be sure, mostly other officers in the fleet, and from all reports, most of them had likely already killed by the Cylons. But still, he knew it wasn't the same; he simply couldn't feel the loss to such a personal depth as those amongst his crew who were losing _family_.

Except perhaps for Brianna…

If something happened to her…

Shaking his head, Runel brought himself back to the concrete here-and-now.

With his ship adrift and powerless, Runel had to seriously consider the possibility that he might have to evacuate and scuttle the _Enceladus_. If she couldn't be bought back to fighting trim, and soon, she would be a liability in any further engagements with the Cylons.

Still, rational assessments aside, he was not yet resigned to leaving behind the _Enceladus_ as an inevitability; indeed, he could barely stomach the idea of abandoning his first command.

Runel wanted to be sure all avenues had been exhausted first; the _Enceladus_ had served them well so far, she was too good a ship to simply write off without making every effort to save her first.

It would just take time to repair her.

And time seemed to be the thing they lacked most.

"Colonel, we're receiving a message over priority channel one, sir," called Petty Officer Templeton.

"Bring it here," replied Runel, rubbing his tired eyes as he stood up a little straighter at the plot table.

As Templeton printed the message for Runel, the Colonel pondered the implications.

If a message was being sent over the priority channel, it meant that there were other Fleet units still in the fight.

And if they weren't alone, then there was still a chance to link up with friendly forces.

Taking the printout from Templeton, Runel quickly scanned over the text of the message.

"_To all Colonial Units; am taking command of Fleet. All units ordered to rendezvous at Ragnar Anchorage for regroup and counterattack. Acknowledge by same encryption protocol. Adama._"

Colonel Runel took in a deep, steadying breath.

Commander Adama was still alive.

Somehow, that didn't surprise Runel; _Galactica_'s CO was truly the definition of an 'old salt' warship commander; tough, thoughtful and pragmatic, if anyone could survive this mess, it made sense that Bill Adama would be just such a man.

"Shall I acknowledge the message, sir?" asked Templeton.

Playing with the paper between his fingers for a moment, Runel considered Templeton's question.

"No, not yet," said Runel finally. "As long as our FTL system is down, we can't risk the Cylons tracing our transmission back to us. Besides which, at this range, this message is already a couple of hours old."

Rubbing his eyes…

When was the last time he'd slept?

…Runel looked back down at the message.

"However, get a hold of the other ships on short-wave; verify that they've received the message as well. Advise them that once our FTL is back online, we _will_ be jumping to Ragnar to link up with the _Galactica_. Let's just hope that Adama is still there by the time we're able to get back underway."

"Understood, Colonel," replied Templeton dutifully as he returned to the Communications station.

Looking over the brief message one last time, Runel then set it down on the plot table.

Everything else aside, Runel now focused on one single objective; strength in numbers, they _had_ to link back up with the Battlestar _Galactica_.

* * *

**Battlestar _Pacifica  
_****_C_****olonial Fleet Reserve Depot Orbital Annex  
****Sagittaron Colony  
**

As he rounded the last corner to the airlock, Adrian Kelso caught sight on Mike Franklin and a couple members of his team from engineering, both veteran and ad hoc assignee alike, waiting for the airlock indicator to signal a hard seal.

"You ready to get the parts installed, Mike?" asked Kelso as he stepped up next to the old engineer.

"As long as they also remembered to bring along the tools I asked for," replied Franklin as his eyes stayed focused on the indicator gauge. "It's a bit more complicated than simply slipping a paperclip into a socket."

"How long do you think it will take?"

"Installation is pretty straight forward, provided the parts are in order," shrugged Franklin. "Whether or not some damned rats have chewed through some wiring somewhere, that's a whole other matter."

"Have I ever told you what an optimist you are?" grinned Kelso as he heard the dull thud of machinery working just behind the airlock.

"I don't have time for optimism," replied Franklin flatly. "I've got a ship to fix."

Kelso couldn't help but shake his head over how quickly the previously jovial Mike Franklin had once more taken on the acerbic edge he'd carried so long ago during the war. Moreover, Kelso realized he could understand why; with the survival of his own grandsons, Joshua and Alexander, at stake, Franklin had concrete reasons to return to laconic pragmatism.

At last, the indicator gauge on the airlock changed from red to green, signaling a hard seal. But as he pressed the switch to cycle the door open, Kelso frowned; nothing happened.

Without missing a beat, Franklin stepped forward and delivered a hard punch against the panel.

Instantly the airlock door groaned, but nevertheless slid open

Although he wasn't quite certain what he'd expected to see as the hatch slid open, Adrian Kelso was nonetheless surprised when several dozen people in civilian attire and worker's overalls began making their way through the airlock, a heavy train of equipment and supplies in tow.

"Mark; should have known Bess would have your ugly ass up in orbit," quipped Franklin as one of the workers stepped up to him with a sizeable binder.

"Nice to see you too, Mike," replied the man with a grin.

"Commander, this is Mark Shipman," stated Franklin as he motioned towards the man.

"Damned glad to meet you," smiled Kelso as he shook Shipman's hand. "I'll be even happier if you've got the parts we need to get our FTL online."

"Got everything here but the ambrosia to rechristen her," replied Shipman as he motioned to the myriad of personnel shuttling boxes of equipment in the hatchway.

"Not to sound ungrateful or anything, Mark, but how the hell did you have this equipment at the ready like this?" asked Franklin as he perused through the binder Shipman had handed him.

"Haven't heard yet, huh?" chuckled Shipman somewhat acerbically.

"We've been a bit busy," replied Kelso, himself ironing over the magnitude of the understatement.

"Paul Bess has been moving people and supplies into orbit for a couple hours now," replied Shipman as he pressed himself up against the bulkhead to allow two workers to push a rather sizeable container past. "Ever since the Case Orange message hit the wireless, we've been in evacuation mode."

"Evacuate to where?" asked Franklin as he glanced up from the binder.

"What, you think you're the only one who can get a decom moving again?" countered Shipman as he shuffled a few more workers by. "We have three ships we were already preparing to FTL out to the weapons range for use as targets, and a fourth ship that arrived yesterday for decommissioning, so her systems were still intact."

Kelso and Franklin exchanged a quick glance.

"When it became apparent things were going from bad to worse, Bess decided to go ahead and bug out before the bombs started falling here too," continued Shipman as he again stepped aside to allow a large pallet by. "We had a few civilian ships land when the attack began, and we've been using them to move supplies and refugees up."

"What refugees?" asked Franklin flatly.

"Just about everyone within several dozen kilometers of the depot," replied Shipman as he waved still more workers through. "We started with the families of the depot personnel and moved right on to the local townies."

As he turned back to Kelso and Franklin, Shipman saw that Franklin was staring at him quite intently.

"How many people have been brought up so far?" asked Kelso evenly.

"Maybe fifteen thousand, somewhere about there," replied Shipman as he looked over his shoulder. "They'll be packed in tighter than a temple virgin's panties, but it's better that than the alternative."

Kelso nodded his head.

"We still have some room here aboard _Pacifica_, not a lot, but we may be able to take on another four hundred or so," stated Kelso as he looked over at Franklin.

Franklin was hesitant, looking a bit distracted.

"I don't suppose anyone's been out to Franklin's house," asked Kelso pointedly, voicing what was clearly on the old engineer's mind.

"Oh, yeah, son-of-a-bitch, Mike, I almost forgot," burst Shipman as he snapped his fingers and looked over at Franklin. "Bess sent a runner over to your house when he found out you and the _Pacifica_ were on the way here. Last I heard your wife and daughters were waiting down at the field for evac."

Kelso reached out and clasped onto Franklin's shoulder. For his own part, Franklin's face seemed to waver for a moment.

"Thanks, Mark," said Franklin simply, his voice cracking a bit.

Franklin stood there for a moment, silent, nervously tapping the clipboard against the palm of his hand.

"Well, if you two will excuse me, I need to get these parts installed," sighed Franklin, fighting to keep his tone even as he suddenly turned and made his way off down the corridor.

As both Kelso and Shipman watched him disappear around a corner, Shipman took a small step towards the _Pacifica_'s old CO.

"What's with him?" muttered Shipman as the last workers slipped by with the final pieces of equipment. "You'd think I'd just told him they were all dead, not waiting for evac."

"Mike has probably spent most of the morning getting himself ready for the idea that they _were_ dead," began Kelso as he absently watched the last workers, disappear beyond a turn at the end of the corridor. "Now you tell him they're alive; well, that's enough to play with anyone's mind, don't you think?"

Shipman seemed to consider that for a moment.

"I'll call Bess, make _sure_ they're sent up here to _Pacifica_, by Raptor or transport, whatever it takes," said Shipman as he reached out to Adrian Kelso. "I'll make _damned_ sure."

"I appreciate it," grinned Kelso as he took hold of Shipman's hand in a firm, brisk handshake.

With that, Shipman turned and headed back out the airlock.

Curiously, Kelso realized he was now alone at the airlock.

Looking around somewhat awkwardly, Kelso turned and began making his way back down along the corridor, heading back to CIC.

As he walked alone through the stark corridor, Adrian Kelso's mind again drifted back to thoughts of his own son, Sean.

He knew Sean was assigned to the Scorpion Fleet Shipyards, and at last report, the shattered remains of the facility had begun to fall from orbit even as the Cylons were dropping nukes onto Scorpia itself.

Damn, if there was only some way to know for certain what had happened to his son.

Dead or alive, at least knowing for _certain_ was better than not knowing and always _wondering_.

Clenching his fists, Adrian Kelso felt his pulse quicken bit, his steps quickening along with it.

He might not ever know his son's fate, not with any certainty, but he refused to simply wallow in helplessness.

Forty years ago, he'd faced and fought the Cylons…

Forty years later, he now found himself in a fight with them again…

Maybe not with weapons, but he _was_ fighting with them, fighting them the only way he still could; by making sure, by every means he could find, every ounce of strength and gall he could muster, that everyone aboard the _Pacifica_ made it out of this hell alive and safe.

He would fight the Cylons by making sure their quest to destroy the human race failed.

And he would continue to fight them, until the day came when he no longer could.

* * *

**Battlecruiser _Enceladus  
_****Near Emergency Fleet Rally Point 486SE  
**

"Main engineering is reporting full power restored," called Lieutenant Thorpe as he hung up the handset at the Operations console. "FTL drives one and two are being spun up, Colonel."

"Excellent work, people," snapped Runel as he looked around CIC, the main lights and several computer readouts flashing back to life. "Mr. Templeton, get on the short-wave wireless and advise the other ships that we are back online; prepare for immediate combat jump to the Ragnar Anchorage."

"Aye, sir," replied Templeton as he absently adjusted his headset and sent out the message. "_Savitri_, _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_ all acknowledge signal and are ready to jump, Colonel."

"Very well," answered Runel as he looked up at the still blank DRADIS screen above. "Status of final evac from the tanker and freighters?"

"All supplies and personnel have been moved over, Colonel, ready to cut the ships loose on your order," replied Lieutenant Thorpe.

"Issue the order, Lieutenant," replied Runel flatly. "Set the scuttle charges for complete detonation ten seconds after we jump."

"Aye, sir, timers have been set."

"Action Stations," said Runel as he leaned in over the plot table and focused his eyes back in on the DRADIS as the system came back to life.

Snatching up his handset again, Lieutenant Thorpe toggled the switch for the overhead One-MC.

"Action Stations, Action Stations; set Condition One throughout the ship; all hands prepare for combat jump; Action Stations, Action Stations; set Condition One throughout the ship; all hands prepare for combat jump; this is not a drill."

Straightening back up, Runel reached back and massaged the significant knot in his lower back, then stretched a bit till he felt a satisfying crack, then looked back over to Lieutenant Thorpe.

"All decks report Action Stations, manned and ready, Colonel," began Thorpe as he stepped over to the FTL console. "We are ready to jump on your order, sir."

Taking a deep breath, Colonel Thadius Runel couldn't help but remember that two out of last three jumps had resulted in the _Enceladus_ popping right into the middle of a vicious firefight.

Cracking his knuckles, he couldn't help but hope, silently, that _this_ jump would be relatively uneventful; that they'd be able to jump out to the Ragnar Anchorage and link up with Commander Adama and the Battlestar _Galactica_ without a hitch.

"Start the clock, Lieutenant Thorpe," said Runel as he leaned back in over the plot table, his eyes locked intently on the screens overhead.

"Aye, sir, jumping in five, four, three, two, one."

As before, but not nearly as distinct or overwhelming, Runel felt his perceptions skewed by the _Enceladus_' transition, literally, the folding of space, the infinity of creation contracting as the ship moved instantly from one point in space to another.

"Jump complete, Colonel," called Lieutenant Thorpe a moment later as the young officer turned and hurried back over to the Operations panel.

Focusing his eyes back in on DRADIS, Runel saw _Savitri_, _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_, all holding in neat formation with _Enceladus_.

And then he scowled.

"Contact!" snapped Thorpe as he dropped back into the seat at Operations. "Correction; multiple contacts, Colonel. Range; twenty-five hundred kilometers directly ahead."

"Battery plot, get me a firing solution on the double," snapped Runel as he focused in on three new icons on the DRADIS screen.

Then more appeared, several dozen more, smaller signatures…

Raiders…

"New contacts appear to be holding position near the mouth of the Ragnar entry corridor, Colonel," continued Thorpe.

Reaching down, Runel snatched up the handset on the side of the plot table.

"Templeton, put me on short-wave to the other ships," snapped Runel as he held the handset up to his ear.

"Sir, I'm picking up a Colonial transponder signal," called Lieutenant Thorpe urgently.

Runel paused, his eyes locked expectantly on Thorpe.

"Sir, I've got positive ID on the Battlestar _Republica_," continued Thorpe a moment later. "Sir, she _is_ under attack, two Cylon Basestars confirmed, multiple Raiders."

Looking back up at DRADIS, Runel watched at the centermost icon changed to denote the position of the Battlestar _Republica_; the hapless vessel was clearly in distress and pinned between two Basestars, a deadly, swarming mass of accosting Raiders swirling around her.

So much for uneventful…

"Sir, we're receiving a message from _Republica_," called Petty Officer Templeton. "They request _immediate_ assistance, Colonel."

"Helm, full ahead, get me a firing solution for the main bow batteries for the Basestar off the _Republica_'s port bow," snapped Runel as he momentarily moved the handset mic away from him mouth.

"Aye, sir, answering full ahead," replied Petty Officer Pardi.

"_Enceladus_-Actual to _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_," said Runel as he moved the mic back to his mouth.

"Adroa_-Actual, go ahead_ Enceladus."

"Ikenga_-Actual, send it_."

"Break formation and execute a wide flanking turn off our Port, put down some covering crossfire for our approach," snapped Runel as he watched the Raiders continuing to swarm around _Republica_.

"_Understood_ Enceladus."

"_Copy that_."

Runel went to hang the handset back up when the voice of _Savitri_'s CO, Colonel Brianna Webber, broke in over the wireless.

"_This is Savitri-_Actual_, I don't know what you've got in mind, but there's no way we're going to just sit this one out_."

"This is _Enceladus_-Actual," began Runel pausing as he watched the Raiders continue to pound the _Republica_. "Keep to our stern and follow us in, when you reach your optimal engagement range, lay down cover fire for us by turning your ship for a full broadside against the Cylon lines."

"_Copy that _Enceladus_, but what exactly are you planning to do_?" asked Colonel Webber flatly. "_You just got that bucket of yours operational again, can't imagine she'll be able to handle much punishment_."

"We're going to rush the Basestar to port of _Republica_, try and get close before they have a chance to hit us, now just get me that cover fire," snapped Runel, slamming the handset down a moment later.

"Sixty Cylon Raiders have broken their attack on _Republica_, Colonel," called Lieutenant Thorpe. "They're now closing with _us_, CBDR directly off our bow."

"Very well."

Focusing back in on DRADIS, Runel watched as the _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_ began a wide turn that was taking them outboard of the advancing Raiders. With _Savitri_ falling in behind the _Enceladus_, the stout battlecruiser began a headlong rush towards the nearest of the two Cylon Basestars hammering the Battlestar _Republica_.

"ECM systems are active, Colonel; DC teams standing by," called Lieutenant Thorpe.

"Understood," replied Runel simply as he watched the advancing wall of Raiders continue to close the distance on the _Enceladus_.

"We have closed to optimum engagement range, Colonel," stated Lieutenant Thorpe urgently. "Main bow batteries have a firing solution."

"Order main bow batteries to commence fire, multiple inbound targets, flak loads," replied Runel evenly as he pointed up at the Raiders on DRADIS. "I want to punch a hole _right through_ those Raiders and continue on to the nearest Basestar."

"Aye, sir."

A moment later, the dull thud of the bow batteries firing echoed throughout CIC.

On DRADIS, several of the Raiders at the center of the Cylon formation instantly vanished as the explosive flak loads tore them apart in a hail of shrapnel.

"Fifteen enemy targets destroyed, Colonel."

"Helm, maintain course and speed."

On DRADIS, Runel watched as per his order, _Savitri_ stopped following the _Enceladus_, turned and opened up with a full broadside directly into the still-advancing Raiders. Although the idea that _Savitri_'s ordnance was literally streaking by the _Enceladus_ chilled Runel somewhat, he was nonetheless filled with satisfaction as still more of the Raiders were pummeled into oblivion by the hail of fire.

"Remaining Raiders are breaking off their attack, Colonel," called Lieutenant Thorpe as Runel watched the advancing Raiders turn away and make a break back towards the Basestars.

"Oh, no you don't," whispered Runel venomously.

After pushing the _Enceladus_ through two engagements where _she'd_ been the one at the disadvantage, Runel suddenly felt a surge of bloodlust.

"Does _Republica_ have any Vipers in the air?" asked Runel.

"Negative, Colonel," replied Thorpe. "_Savitri_ reports they are ready to launch a sortie of their own fighters on your order."

"Tell them to hold for now," replied Runel as he glared up at DRADIS. "The less friendlies we have in the air, the less chance we have of knocking down one of our own in the crossfire."

"Aye, sir."

On the screen overhead, Runel watched as the Raiders continued their retreat away from the charging _Enceladus_ with satisfaction. Nevertheless, he could not miss his intended target, the looming Cylon Basestar directly ahead that was still launching volley after volley into the faltering Battlestar _Republica_.

"Do we have a firing solution for our prime target, yet?" snapped Runel.

"Affirmative, Colonel, bow batteries are ready to fire on your order."

"Hot load, one-to-one HE to AP," said Runel as his hawkish eyes focused on the Basestar directly ahead. "All bow batteries, fire at will."

Again the dull thud of the bow batteries firing echoed through the air, the heavy ordnance racing out and ripping into the Cylon Basestar.

"Battery plot reports multiple impacts on target, Colonel," called Lieutenant Thorpe.

"At the rapid rate, continue firing," replied Runel, leaning in over the plot table, his right hand clenching into a tight fist. "Break their backs."

"_Adroa_ and _Ikenga_ report they've reached optimum firing position for primary target," called Lieutenant Thorpe.

"Acknowledge and clear them hot for engagement of primary target."

"Aye, sir."

On DRADIS, the melee joined, Runel watched as the Cylon Baseship off the _Republica_'s Port Bow began absorbing not only hits from _Enceladus_, but the fire now being laid down by the two destroyers as well.

"Change in aspect and range to target, Colonel," called Lieutenant Thorpe as DRADIS continued to register multiple impacts on the enemy Baseship. "Looks like our primary target is attempting to break contact and retreat."

"Order _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_ to step up their rate of fire," snapped Runel. "Keep the pressure on; give them _no_ quarter."

"Second Basestar has broken contact with _Republica_, Colonel," called Lieutenant Thorpe. "Looks like they're trying and push out to our starboard flank."

Watching the DRADIS intently, Runel felt emboldened; the Cylons were losing.

And they knew it.

"They're trying and draw us away from our attack," noted Runel as he watched the second Baseship attempt to move out to Starboard of _Enceladus_.

Reaching down, he snatched up the handset and looked over at Templeton.

"Get me the _Savitri_."

"You're on, Colonel," replied Templeton a moment later.

"_Enceladus_-Actual to _Savitri_-Actual, you wanted in on the action, here's your chance; bring your ship around, wide turn off to our Starboard, drive that second Baseship off our flank."

"_Will do, but we're not going to be able to stand toe-to-toe with that Basestar for long on our own_," replied Colonel Brianna Webber flatly.

"You won't have to; just pin them in, rob them of their ability to maneuver freely," replied Runel flatly. "If you can hold them, they'll be right in position for a full broadside from our main dorsal batteries."

"_Copy that,_ Enceladus."

With that, Colonel Webber terminated the transmission.

Hanging up the handset, Runel watched as the _Savitri_ accelerated and turned into the second Basestar's axis of advance, effectively blocking it in. With their maneuver countered, the second Baseship now found itself in the crosshairs of both the _Savitri_ and the _Enceladus_.

"Battery plot reports critical damage to primary target, Colonel," called Lieutenant Thorpe. "Cylon Baseship is beginning to break up."

A moment later, the Cylon Baseship, its structural integrity compromised by the hammer blows being delivered by _Enceladus_, _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_, vanished from DRADIS, succumbing to the withering fire.

But with the second Baseship still off to _Enceladus_' Starboard flank, Runel didn't skip a beat.

"Get on the wireless, order _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_ into a sweeping turn to Starboard, close the circle in around the second Baseship."

Watching DRADIS, absorbing the battle on a visceral level, Runel's attention focused in fully on the remaining Cylon Basestar as the _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_ again turned to engage.

With its own initial maneuver now having brought it into a position to be assailed from not just two, but now three different angles, the Cylons apparently conceded the contest, the Baseship vanishing from DRADIS as it performed an FTL jump.

"Cowards," hissed Runel bitterly under his breath even as several crewmembers around CIC let out shouts of exultation.

As the moment of euphoria faded, Runel turned to Templeton.

"Get on the wireless to _Republica_, find out what they need in the way of medical and DC teams," said Runel as he reached up and rubbed at the knot in his neck.

"I have _Republica_-Actual on wireless, sir," replied Templeton as he pointed over at the handset beside Runel.

"Pipe the feed over here," began Runel as he reached down and picked up the handset. "Also get _Savitri_, _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_ on the line as well."

"Aye, sir."

Holding the handset to his ear, Runel gave DRADIS one last glance before looking over at Templeton again, receiving a silent thumbs-up, indicating that all ships were now linked into the same wireless transmission.

"Battlestar _Republica_, this is _Enceladus_-Actual, what's your status?"

"Enceladus_, this is _Republica_-Actual, thank you for the assist_," began the audibly tired voice on the other end of the wireless transmission.

"_Republica_, we're mustering medical and DC teams at this time, we'll get them over to you shortly," continued Runel, still absently massaging at the knot in his neck.

"_Belay that Enceladus_," replied Republica's CO evenly. "_The Cylons inflicted severe damage to our propulsion systems, FTL is a hopeless wreck at this point. At this time I'm ordering my crew to prepare to abandon ship_."

Runel paused, taking a deep breath as he glanced up at the _Republica_'s icon on DRADIS.

Having only just recently faced the very real possibility of having to abandon _Enceladus_, though thankfully not ultimately being forced to do so, Runel understood quite well the ramifications of such a decision; the damage must have indeed been severe for _Republica_'s CO to decide to abandon her.

"We copy, _Republica_, you are abandoning ship," sighed Runel evenly as he continued to look at the crippled Battlestar's icon on DRADIS. "Are the outer airlocks along your flight pods still operational?"

"_That's affirmative_, Enceladus," replied _Republica_'s CO, her voice sounding utterly exhausted, the sound of shouting crewmen echoing in the background.

"Very well, I'll maneuver _Enceladus_ in alongside your Port pod," continued Runel as he cradled the handset against his shoulder and motioned with his hands to Petty Officer Pardi at the helm to begin the maneuver. "As soon as we've got hard-seal, we'll start the evac of your crew."

"_Thanks again, _Enceladus_, I wasn't looking forward to putting my people off in lifeboats_," continued _Republica_-Actual. "_I see you have a Combatstar with your group, are they able to take on our air wing; abandoning _Republica_ is bad enough, I'd hate to have to leave my Vipers and Raptors as well_."

"_Savitri_-Actual, did you copy last?" asked Runel flatly.

"_That's affirmative _Enceladus_, we copied_," replied the voice of Colonel Brianna Webber. "_We're already carrying a heavy deck right now; we'll have to do a bit of shuffling to make room, but we should be able to accommodate _Republica_'s air wing_."

"Republica_ copies, thank you _Savitri_, we'll be getting our birds aloft momentarily; easier to launch and land them under their own power than transfer them by EVA._"

"Enceladus_-Actual to _Republica-Actual_, no disrespect, but how is it your birds were on the deck and not in the air during the battle_?" asked Runel flatly.

Runel internally winced after the words left this mouth. As honest an inquiry as it was, he realized that the words had lacked some tact, perhaps even sounding like some form of recrimination.

Gods he felt tired…

Nevertheless, if _Republica_'s CO had taken any offense to the question, he didn't note any change in her tone when she in fact answered a moment later.

"_I presume you've received the reports of our ships losing power as they moved to engage Cylon units_?"

"Affirmative," replied Runel, remembering all too well when the same happened to _Adroa_, _Ikenga_ and _Savitri_.

"_Well, it seems that whatever is affecting our ships is also affecting our Vipers and some of the newer Raptors as well. Since we haven't yet figured out the cause of the problem, I simply kept them aboard. We already lost our escorts to this damned Cylon virus, or whatever it is, I wasn't about to lose good pilots as well_."

"Copy that," sighed Runel as he watched _Republica_ bloom with the signature icons of her launching air wing.

Within moments, the Vipers and Raptors had covered the short distance and were lining up for landing on the already packed decks of the _Savitri_.

"_Be advised, all of our aircraft are off deck, _Enceladus," stated _Republica_'s CO. "_We are prepared to take you alongside at this time for offload of crew, confirm you'll be docking along the Port flight pod_?"

"Affirmative."

"_This is _Savitri_-Actual_," broke in Colonel Webber over the wireless. "_Be advised, as soon as we've finished recovery of _Republica_'s air wing, we'll pull in alongside the Starboard pod to expedite the evacuation._"

"Copy that _Savitri_," replied Runel, somewhat relieved that the entire complement of the larger _Republica_ wouldn't be trying to cram aboard his battlecruiser alone. "_Enceladus_-Actual to _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_, maintain covering positions while we conduct evac."

Almost as soon as _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_ had confirmed the order, Runel watched on DRADIS as the two destroyers began a wide circle around the larger warships, covering them as the _Enceladus_ and _Savitri_ moved into the vulnerable docking positions along the flight pods of the crippled Battlestar _Republica_.

"_Enceladus_-Actual to _Republica_, inquiry; have you had any contact with the Battlestar _Galactica_?" asked Runel as he watched the _Enceladus_ maneuver in alongside _Republica_ for docking. "Last report we received _Galactica_-Actual was assuming command of fleet and had ordered a regroup here at Ragnar."

"_That's a negative, _Enceladus," replied _Republica_'s CO. "_We received the order for rendezvous but came under assault the moment we arrived, haven't had time to investigate the Ragnar Anchorage yet._"

"Copy that," sighed Runel, feeling a slight rush of frustration.

While he knew his first duty lay in evacuating the Battlestar _Republica_, he nevertheless felt impatient about having to postpone his still-hoped-for rendezvous with _Galactica_.

Within minutes, the _Enceladus_ had achieved a hard seal with several of the docking ports along _Republica_'s Port flight pod. _Savitri_, having finished recovery operations for the _Republica_'s air wing, was now likewise moving in for docking along the Starboard pod.

"We've begun receiving evacuees from _Republica_, Colonel," stated Lieutenant Thorpe.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," replied Runel as he continued to stand with the handset to his ear, waiting.

With his latent impatience still gnawing at him, Runel found himself quite literally gnawing at the inside of his lip.

"Lieutenant Thorpe, have repairs been completed on our hangar deck doors?" asked Runel flatly as he watched the _Savitri_ complete her docking maneuver with _Republica_.

"Affirmative, sir."

"Prep a Raptor for a recon run down the chute," snapped Runel as he gently shifted his weight form one leg to another, his body feeling stiff. "We need to determine whether the _Galactica_ is still at the Ragnar Anchorage."

"Copy that, sir," replied Thorpe as he picked up the handset at his station and called down to _Enceladus_' flight deck.

Reaching down, Runel flipped a switch that changed one of the overhead screens to a live camera feed from the security cameras down by the airlocks. At each open airlock, a long line of _Republica_'s crewmembers, a good number of whom were wounded, shuffled their way aboard the _Enceladus_.

The expressions on their faces looked so defeated…

Taking a deep breath, Runel looked back over at DRADIS as the tracking icon for one of _Enceladus_' Raptors streaked away from the cluster of warships towards the entry corridor to the Ragnar Anchorage.

"Raptor is away, Colonel," called Lieutenant Thorpe as he hung the handset back up. "Approximate travel time down the chute is forty minutes."

"Thank you, Lieutenant."

His eyes settling back in on the security camera feeds, Runel was surprised when the DRADIS suddenly let out an alarm.

His attention snapping back, Runel's eyes darted about the display, searching for what he was sure would be the icon for a Raider, a Baseship, and entire Cylon fleet.

Within moments, however, Runel realized the alarm was not because of a returning Cylon warship, but rather because DRADIS was picking up a pilot's emergency distress beacon.

Somewhere out in space nearby, a Colonial pilot was signaling for rescue.

And then, to Runel's surprise, a second beacon was also activated.

* * *

Lieutenant Kieran Trevino, call sign 'Huffer', cradled the emergency wireless beacon in his shaking hands.

With hopeful anticipation, he sat strapped to the ejected cockpit seat looking out at the small cluster of Colonial warships that had driven off the Cylons.

He only vaguely recalled the harrowing experience of having the old Mark II Viper blown out from under him; the briefest recollection of engaging a trio of Raiders, an alarm going off on his panel, then his ejection system launching him clear of an erupting fireball. He'd survived the destruction of his Viper only to find himself floating amid the continuing battle surrounding the Battlestar _Galactica_'s escape.

Huffer had haplessly been given a sideline seat as the remainder of the battle had unfolded around him. He'd watched as the civilian ships hiding behind _Galactica_'s cover fire had jumped away one by one.

He'd watched as the two Basestars had pummeled the _Galactica_ with their ordnance, a third arriving in the midst of the battle to try and prevent the venerable Battlestar from escaping.

He'd watched as the collection of antique Vipers had executed a last minute emergency landing.

And finally, he'd watched as the Battlestar _Galactica_ herself jumped away.

For a while, he expected that at any moment he would see a Raider sweep in towards him, certain the last thing he would see in this life would be Cylon tracers stitching their way across space towards him.

And yet, miraculously, the Cylons didn't seem to know he was there.

Before long, one of the Basestars jumped away, leaving two to guard the entry corridor to Ragnar Anchorage.

As he sat watching the two Cylon Baseships, Huffer passed the time pondering which ultimate fate would be worse; allowing his oxygen supply to simply run out, or releasing the sealing clamps of his flight helmet and surrendering himself to the cold vacuum of space.

As his thoughts fought back and forth between the two possibilities, he continued to watch the two hovering Basestars, wondering time after time why they did not simply depart.

Surely they didn't expect the _Galactica_ to return.

He certainly didn't expect the old Battlestar to come back, not for one lone pilot.

Indeed, from his vantage point it was clear that _Galactica_ and the civilian ships had just barely escaped being destroyed. Commander Adama was too pragmatic to risk returning, not even a search and rescue mission, especially since Huffer doubted anyone aboard _Galactica_ even knew he was still alive.

So it was that as Lieutenant Kieran 'Huffer' Trevino sat pondering his own demise, reconciling himself to simply letting his oh-two run out and fading away from oxygen deprivation, he was profoundly surprised when he saw the tell-tale flash of an FTL drive.

It was a Battlestar.

Far enough away that he had no way of knowing which Battlestar it was, he had nevertheless been given yet another sideline view of the battle as the two Basestars turned to engage the new arrival. Just as they'd done to _Galactica_, the Cylons mercilessly pummeled the newly arrived Battlestar. As the ship shuddered under the brutal Cylon barrage, it was clear, it would only be a matter of time before the Colonial warship succumbed.

And then the Fates turned the tables against the Cylons.

Several more Colonial ships jumped in and proceeded to execute a highly aggressive counterattack that managed to destroy one of the Basestars and drive off the second.

As the battle ended with the Cylon retreat, Huffer had broken from his stunned awe; hell, how often did one get such a stunning if terrifying view of so many leviathans mercilessly pounding one another; and fumbled to retrieve the emergency wireless beacon from his flight gear.

He'd almost lost his grip on the small device, his heart skipping a beat as it began to tumble away into space, but, thank the gods, he'd remembered to tether it to his gear. Within moments he managed to toggle the switch, sending out a distinct wireless signal that he hoped would allow the newly arrived Colonial ships to get a fix on his position.

All he could do now was wait.

Then, without warning, he was blinded by a bright light.

* * *

"Raptor crew reports they've picked up two pilots, Colonel," called Petty Officer Templeton.

"Did the pilots say which ship they're from?" asked Runel flatly as he watched the Raptor's icon on DRADIS.

"Affirmative, sir," replied Templeton as he glanced absently up at the DRADIS himself. "They say they're from the Battlestar _Galactica_."

"I want those pilots back here, ASAP."

"Aye, sir."

* * *

Letting out a hoarse cough as he took his first deep breath inside the Raptor, Lieutenant Kieran Trevino reached over and gratefully shook the hand of the ship's ECO.

"Thank the gods you found me," he muttered, the ECO simply smiling back at him as Trevino slowly set his helmet down on the deck.

Then, to his surprise, the next face Trevino saw was that of Lieutenant Shara Talbot, a fellow Viper pilot from _Galactica_.

"I thought I told you to jink to Port," she smiled as she reached down and gave him a nudge on the shoulder. "Got your ship blasted to pieces 'cause you didn't listen to your wingman."

"What about you?" countered Trevino with a smirk. "I don't exactly see a Viper strapped to _your_ ass right now."

"I went to Starboard," shrugged Talbot. "What can I say, there were a lot of those bastards out there."

Letting out a chuckle, interrupted by another cough, Trevino looked out the forward cockpit of the Raptor as it raced back in towards its presumed carrier.

No, not a carrier, it was a battlecruiser.

The ship was docked alongside the Battlestar it had rescued from the Cylons.

Stepping up between the flight seats, Talbot looked out to try and get a view of the names of the ships.

The Battlestar was the _Republica_, her proud name scarred by impacts from Cylon ordnance.

The battlecruiser's name, no less marred, was _Enceladus_.

"Holy frak," he muttered. "_Enceladus_; never thought I'd see _that_ ship again."

"Alive and kicking," replied the Raptor's pilot. "We've been jumping from one firefight to another ever since we broke off from escorting the _Galactica_ two days ago."

"_Adroa_ and _Ikenga_ are tagging along as well," chimed in the ECO from the rear seat. "We jumped out to Armistice Station soon after we separated from the _Galactica_ and it's been one frakin' Cylon mess after another ever since."

"What's that other ship along _Republica_'s Starboard pod?" asked Talbot as she too stepped up next to Trevino.

"That's the Combatstar _Savitri_," replied the Raptor pilot as he lined up for final approach on _Enceladus_' comparatively diminutive flight deck. "Pulled their fat from the fire too, out near Rhapsody Station. In fact, you might find some friendly faces over there; the squadrons _Galactica_ dropped off at Rhapsody before the attack are aboard her right now."

"No fraking way," scoffed Talbot as she glanced over at ECO.

"What can I say, we're building a real reputation for being in the right place at the wrong time," continued the ECO, his tone initially an odd mix of earnestness and sarcasm as he kept his eyes on his displays. "Too bad we didn't get here sooner though, damage to the _Republica_ is too heavy; she's being evacuated as we speak."

Letting out a long sigh, Trevino stepped back towards the rear of the Raptor to retrieve his helmet.

"Colonel Runel wants to speak with you two," continued to ECO, the Raptor shaking slightly as it settled onto the deck of the _Enceladus_.

"No time for some chow and a shower I take it?" asked Trevino lightly.

"Not right now, my friend," replied the ECO as he began securing the Raptor's systems. "What can I say; it's been a fraked up day all around."

* * *

Colonel Thadius Runel cradled the cup of coffee in his hands as though it were ambrosia handed down from the gods themselves.

"Do we have that emergency escape jump plotted yet, Lieutenant Thorpe?" asked Runel as he gently blew at the misting cup in his hands.

"Affirmative, sir," replied Thorpe as he stepped over with a chart and spread it out across the plot table. "Emergency escape coordinates have been plotted and relayed to the other ships."

"Very well."

Leaving the chart overlay at the plot table for Runel to look over, Thorpe made his way back over to the Operations console.

Taking a tentative sip from the steaming cup, Runel looked up as a Marine in full combat gear ushered two pilots into CIC and directed them towards the plot table.

Harried as they look, hair matted by a thin layer of sweat, the two pilots nonetheless stepped up to the table, crisply came to attention, and rendered salutes.

"Lieutenant Kieran Trevino, Battlestar _Galactica_, reporting as ordered, Colonel."

"Lieutenant Shara Talbot, Battlestar _Galactica_, reporting, sir."

"At ease," replied Runel evenly, setting the cup of coffee down as he returned their salute.

As the two pilots went to parade rest, Runel looked over at them.

"No, I mean, it," said Runel as he motioned over at the two pilots. "At ease, before someone mistakes you for mannequins or something."

Relaxing a bit more, Trevino couldn't help but stifle a chuckle at the Colonel's comment.

As he continued to look them over, Runel picked the cup of coffee back up and took another sip.

The two pilots looked every bit as tired as he felt…

And by the way they were enviously eying the cup of coffee in his hands, they must have been feeling that every bit as tired themselves; punching out from a Viper in deep space in the middle of a firefight had doubtless ripped a few years off the ends of their lives…

But, they were at least still alive.

"First off, are either of you injured, need any medical attention?" he asked as he set the cup back down on the table.

"No, sir," replied Trevino and Talbot simply.

"Good to hear," sighed Runel, glancing warily back up at DRADIS. "While I'm sure you two have one hell-of-a story to tell, I'm afraid I'll have to wait for your formal after-action reports for the whole story; right now I just need you to tell me where the _Galactica_ is. Is she still docked down at the Ragnar Anchorage?"

"Negative, Colonel, she's already departed the area," replied Trevino, his voice a touch hoarse.

"Do you know where she went?"

"Not precisely, Colonel," replied Talbot evenly. "After _Galactica_ docked with the Ragnar Anchorage, several civilian ships arrived at the station seeking sanctuary. The President ordered Commander Adama to escort them out of the combat zone to safety."

"President Adar is alive?"

Talbot and Trevino both paused, exchanging a clearly hesitant glance with one another.

"No, sir, President Adar is dead," began Trevino evenly. "The office of the Presidency has been assumed by Laura Roslin."

The look on Runel's face must have conveyed that the name hadn't quite registered.

"The Secretary of _Education_, sir," offered Talbot.

"You're fraking kidding me right?" asked Runel, stifling a chuckle as he glanced at the duo.

"No, sir," replied Trevino flatly.

Runel took a deep breath as he stood silently looking at the two pilots. Then, wordlessly, he picked his cup back up, took an even deeper drag off the coffee, sincerely wishing for a moment that it were something a bit stiffer, then set the empty cup back down on the table.

"Well, that _would_ be consistent with all the other crazy turns this day has taken," he said finally. "So where exactly did the 'President' order Commander Adama to escort the civilians too?"

"The Prolmar sector, sir," replied Trevino.

"The Prolmar sector," echoed Runel, absently looking down at the chart laid out on the plot table before him.

A thick red line ran across the far edge of the chart, denoting the farthest reach of known, charted space. Beyond that line was a simple label reading 'Prolmar sector'. Below that label, between two hash marks was the ominous sub-label 'unknown'.

"Prolmar sector is awfully big," sighed Runel simply as he looked over the chart. "Do you know of any time-table for the _Galactica_'s return?"

"_Galactica_ won't be returning, Colonel," replied Talbot evenly.

"What do you mean 'won't', Lieutenant?"

"When President Roslin ordered Commander Adama to escort the civilian ships out of Ragnar, it was quite clear she meant it to be for good."

"With no way of knowing whether any other ships survived, the President assumed no one else was left and made the decision to abandon the Colonies completely," finished Lieutenant Trevino.

Rubbing his aching eyes, Runel straightened up to stretch the significant ache in his lower back as well.

"We could follow them, couldn't we sir?" asked Talbot evenly.

"Without a better idea of where Adama may have jumped to, it would be like trying to find _one particular_ needle in a _mountain_ of needles, Lieutenant," replied Runel, glaring back down at the chart with tired eyes.

For a moment that harsh fact hung thick over the atmosphere in CIC; Runel looking at the chart, his crew looking over to him. Shoving the chart aside in mild disgust, Runel looked back up into their expectant eyes, sensing the question that hung over all their heads.

What do we do now?

No single act could shatter a ship CO's ability to control his crew than to admit he had no idea what to do next. He couldn't afford to make that mistake, especially after all they had endured so far.

His crew deserved better than indecision on his part.

"All right people, listen up," he snapped, straightening up and looking out at the crew around CIC. "I know we were hoping to be able to link back up with Commander Adama and the _Galactica_, but, until we have a better idea where they are, we can't afford to waste fuel searching for them. With a little luck, maybe a well-placed prayer to the gods, perhaps we'll find a way to catch up to her. But for now, right now, I need you all to keep your heads in the game, we still have a mission; we'll continue search and rescue operations, try to link up with any other scattered Colonial units that might still be out there."

Clearly disheartened and every bit as tired as he was, most of his CIC crew nevertheless nodded in acknowledgement.

Taking a breath, Runel looked back over at Talbot and Trevino for a moment.

"Now, I need you all to understand, above all else, this isn't over," he continued, his tone firm, full of conviction. "The Cylons may have started this fight, but that doesn't mean they've won it. We _will_ take every opportunity to hit the Cylons where it hurts, as hard as we can and as often as we can. We'll fight these bastards, and continue to fight them until we can't!"

Runel paused, taking a moment look once more around at his CIC crew, catch eyes with each and every one of the expectant faces looking to him.

"So say we all?" he asked expectantly.

Instantly, everyone in CIC chorused, "So say we all!"

Heartened, each of the faces around him seemed to have a renewed resolve, the moment of uncertainty once again dissolving into determination. For Runel, it felt like electricity pouring over his tired body, invigorating, rejuvenating him.

"So say we all," he whispered, nodding in approval as he looked into their resolute faces. "Okay, we have an evacuation to complete, let's get back to it people."

As everyone around CIC refocused themselves on their work, Runel turned back to Lieutenants Talbot and Trevino.

"Main galley is still picking up the pieces after a Cylon missile strike, but the Officer's Mess should still have some Mid-Rats available; grab some chow and then head down to sickbay for a full physical, just in case."

"Aye, sir," replied the two pilots in unison as they turned and headed out of CIC.

"Lieutenant Thorpe, status of _Republica_ evac?"

"Nearly three quarters of the crew have been transferred, sir," replied Thorpe instantly as he stepped over to Colonel Runel with a few hand-scribbled notations. "We've even begun receiving some supplies; food stuffs, small arms and related munitions, spare parts…"

Overhead, DRADIS suddenly let out a shrill alarm.

His attention snapping back to the overhead displays, Runel watched in repressed horror as six Cylon Basestars jumped into range.

"Contacts!" shouted Thorpe instinctively as he dropped the hand-written notes down on the plot table and practically vaulted back over to the Operations console.

"_This is _Republica_, we've got six Basestars bearing down on us_ Enceladus," snapped the voice of _Republica_'s CO over the overhead speakers.

"We confirm, _Republica_," said Runel a split second after snatching up the handset on the side of the plot table.

"They're launching Raiders!" shouted Thorpe as the closing Basestars blossomed with literally hundreds of smaller signatures. "Estimate two minutes till they're within weapons range."

"Copy," snapped Runel simply.

As he moved the handset back in over his mouth, Runel was suddenly knocked off balance, dropping the handset he reached out and grabbed hold of the plot table.

Instantly, his mind raced to figure out what it was that was happening to his ship; they were still well outside Cylon engagement range…

"Decompression alarms along Starboard airlocks," called Thorpe as the shuddering continued. "We are losing hard seal with _Republica_!"

No, it wasn't weapons impacts…

In horror, Runel suddenly realized what was happening…

The _Republica_ was trying to break away…

"Seal all airlocks, now, Lieutenant!" shouted Runel as he fumbled to get a hold of the dangling handset. "Emergency breakaway!"

Finally grabbing hold of the handset, Runel snapped it up to his ear.

"This is _Enceladus_-Actual, what in the name of the gods do you think you're doing, _Republica_?"

"_Savitri_ has achieved emergency break-away, Colonel," called Lieutenant Thorpe, a split second before _Enceladus_ herself ceased shuddering. "All airlocks are sealed; we have full breakaway."

"_This is _Republica_, get clear, _Enceladus_, that's an order_," replied the voice of Republica's CO flatly. "_Execute your jump, get my people out of here, we'll keep these mother-frakers off your backs_."

Speechless, Runel watched on DRADIS as the crippled _Republica_, now clear of _Enceladus_ and _Savitri_ quickly began accelerating towards the closing Cylon Raiders and Baseships.

For a split instant, Runel wondered just how many crewmembers had been lost when the gantry ways broke loose, trapped in between the ships as the _Republica_ had literally torn herself loose, condemned to a cold, harsh death in the vacuum of space.

No, _Republica_'s CO had made the right call, however harsh; the breakaway had been necessary.

Linked together, they'd all been vulnerable.

Runel looked back up at DRADIS, was about to speak, but stopped.

Even at full strength, his group would never have been able to fend off six full Basestars.

In the battered condition they were in now, a fight would be a rapid suicide.

They'd run out of time.

They'd also run out of options.

"Templeton, send out the order; all ships execute emergency jump, _now_," said Runel, his eyes never leaving DRADIS.

"Aye, sir," answered Templeton simply, his tone somber.

Within moments, Runel watched as first the _Adroa_, then _Ikenga_, and finally _Savitri_ jumped away.

"FTL drives are spun and ready to initiate jump on your order, Colonel," called Lieutenant Thorpe.

Runel stood there for a moment, watching DRADIS as _Republica_ charged headlong into the wall of approaching Raiders. Pouncing upon the crippled Battlestar, the Raiders swarmed around her like angry insects trying to take down a big game animal, their individual stings insignificant, but their collective strike exacting a harsh toll upon the dying warship.

The _Republica_ had no weapons left…

She had no fighters…

No FTL…

No hope for survival…

Nevertheless, she pushed relentlessly through the brutal attack, her path clearly a collision course with one of the Cylon Basestars.

"Colonel?" snapped Thorpe urgently.

"I heard you, Lieutenant!" barked Runel as the sound of _Republica_ under punishing assault filtered through the overhead speakers.

"_I said get the hell out of here, _Enceladus_, that's an order_!" crackled the voice of _Republica_'s CO, her frantic voice barely audible over the terrible pounding of Cylon ordnance and the terrified cries of her remaining crew in the background.

A moment later, the line went dead, dissolving into static.

With a sense of finality, Runel hung up the handset.

"Go with the gods, _Republica_," he whispered. "Initiate jump, Lieutenant Thorpe."

His eyes locked on DRADIS, Runel watched as the _Republica_, the Cylons, and Ragnar itself, the gas giant standing like an apathetic witness to the death being dealt in its orbit, disappeared.

* * *

**Battlestar _Pacifica  
_****Colonial Fleet Reserve Depot Orbital Annex  
****Sagittaron Colony  
**

"We're running out of time," sighed Adrian Kelso as he watched the six Raiders pass out of DRADIS range.

_Pacifica_ herself, of course, wasn't sending out active DRADIS sweeps. Instead, the feed was coming from one of the Raptors that had been deployed to the edges of the mothballed fleet anchorage to act as pickets for this very reason.

As sad a truth as it was, it was better to have the Raptors detected and lose their two-man crews than to risk losing the _Pacifica_ or any of the other ships being pressed back into service for the evac.

Taking a deep breath as the Raiders disappeared from view Kelso, watched as a few civilian ships, nestled just above the heavily irradiated upper atmosphere, powered back up and completed the last leg of their journey to the waiting decommissioned vessels at the Orbital Annex.

"Sir, I'm receiving short-wave wireless from _Asterica_," called Capshaw as she motioned for Kelso to pick up the handset on the side of the plot table. "Director Bess wishes to speak with you."

Picking up the handset, Kelso kept a keen eye on the overhead DRADIS.

"One of these days we'll have to meet in person you know," said Kelso evenly as he continued watching DRADIS. "Glad to see you finally made it into orbit, though."

"_Not as glad as I am to be in orbit_," replied Bess evenly. "_Weather down there is turning pretty foul_."

"I see that," replied Kelso somberly as he watched the screen waver from the ever-increasing amounts of radioactive fallout in the upper atmosphere.

"_The last of evacuees are being loaded up now_," continued Bess. "_We should be able to get the hell out of here within the hour. How go the repairs on your FTL systems_?"

"Well I'd be overstating the matter if I said Franklin was singing praises to the gods right now," replied Kelso with a wry grin. "But now that his wife and daughters are up here as well as his grandsons, he's got all the motivation he needs. We should be ready to get underway as soon as the last evac loads reach orbit."

"_Let's hope so_," sighed Bess. "_Those Raiders passed just a little too close for my comfort; I don't want to be here if the skies get crowded again_."

"How many people do you still have down on the surface?"

"_Marines, tower personnel, local law enforcement helping keep the crowds under control, some civilian medics_," muttered Bess, apparently attempting to figure out the answer off the top of his head. "_Probably around five hundred or so_."

* * *

"I hope they plan on keeping one of those ships on the deck for us," muttered Private Sati as he glanced over his shoulder at the two remaining civilian liners on the tarmac.

Casting a glance back, Lance Corporal Bowman also found himself hoping the same, though he didn't say so openly.

The last load of civilians was already being hurried aboard one of the transports. Ostensibly, that meant the last transport was waiting for the Marines.

Suddenly, a shot rang out…

Dropping to the deck, Bowman practically had to drag the stunned Sati along with him.

His eyes darting about, carbine at the ready, Bowman scanned the tree line beyond the fence, the entry gate, everything, searching for the source of the shot.

Just as quickly, Bowman heard a commotion erupt back over near the control tower.

Looking over, Bowman saw a local police officer was struggling with another man dressed in civilian attire. Over beside the Control Tower, a Marine medic knelt beside another figure writhing on the tarmac.

Peeling himself up off the tarmac, Bowman dashed the short distance over towards the struggle. As the police officer continued to struggle with the man, Bowman brought his carbine up, delivered a quick butt stroke to the man's cheek and then deftly thrust it into his stomach. Crumpling over from the impacts, the stunned man wheezed from having the wind fully knocked from him. As the man crumpled to the ground, Bowman dropped his left knee down onto the man's wrist, his right knee squarely in the middle of his chest, stripping the pistol from his grip as the police officer pulled a pair of mechanical restraints from a pouch on his belt.

"Flip him over," grunted the officer after he fastened the restraint to one of the struggling man's wrists.

As Bowman pulled his knee from off the man's chest, the shooter gasped for air as he was unceremoniously flipped over onto his stomach. Pulling the man's other arm in behind his back, the police officer went to fasten the restraint around the second wrist.

"Alright, he's secured," announced the officer as he roughly snapped the mechanical restraints into place around the shooter's wrists.

Panting heavily from the exertion of subduing the shooter, both Bowman and the police officer stood up, leaving the still gasping man lying on the tarmac.

"What the frak is going on?" shouted Captain Gaines as she jogged up to the scene.

"Mother-fraker apparently wasn't happy with his place in line," replied the police officer as he motioned over to where the Marine medic was tending to another man lying on the ground. "He fired off a shot, hit the tower controller in the shoulder."

"Doc, is he going to make it?" asked Gaines as a couple of civilian medics rushed up to assist the Marine Medic.

"Round went clean through, got entry and exit," replied the Medic, Corporal Jenna Peters, as she pressed down on the wound with a clean dressing. "But, he could still go into shock, we need to get him up to a sickbay."

"Just when I thought this day couldn't get any more fraked up," muttered Sal Coleman as he grunted against the pain of the medic pressing down on the dressing.

"Get him aboard the transport," said Gaines as Peters and a couple of the civilian medics who'd likewise rushed over helped Coleman to his feet. "You can get a better dressing onto the wound while you're moved up into orbit."

"Aye, Captain," replied Peters as she and the civilian medics began to lead the injured Coleman off towards one of the two remaining transports.

Looking down at the shooter as he lay on the deck, Gaines shook her head.

"Get him up," hissed Gaines as she stepped back over.

As Bowman and the police officer hoisted the man up to his feet, the short-statured Gaines stepped right up into the man's now-bruised face.

Gaines was about to speak, but she paused, and instead looked back over at the police officer.

"You got another set of those restraints?" she asked simply.

"Yes I do, Captain," replied the police officer, pulling a second set from his belt pouch and handing them to Gaines.

Taking them, Gaines motioned with her head for Bowman to bring the man along with her.

Stepping back over towards the control tower, Gaines stopped next to an electrical conduit running along the side of the tower.

"Here," she said, pointing at a spot next to the conduit.

As Bowman shoved the man over the spot Gaines indicated, the Captain suddenly kicked out with her foot, her boot making solid contact with the backside of the man's knee, crumpling him to the deck.

As he lay writhing in new pain on the ground, Gaines reached down, and with a grunt, yanked him closer to the conduit, snapped one side of the mechanical restraint around the set already in place around the man's wrists, and then secured the other end firmly to the conduit.

That done, Gaines stood back up and keyed her wireless handset.

"All units, this is Junkyard-Six; prepare for evac; last boat out; team leaders prepare to get everyone aboard; assemble on me at the tower."

As the individual team leaders acknowledged, the Marine Reserve Officer, Captain Brenner stepped up.

Looking around the tarmac, Gaines and Brenner watched as the deployed Marines, civilian police and medics began to pull back towards the control tower.

"Looks like we pulled it off," said Brenner as he watched the teams jog in from the fence line.

Glancing up, Gaines caught sight of the Scimitar gunship as it made a wide pass over the perimeter, the tiny ship having made use of itself ever since being unloaded from the transport carrying Brenner and his Reservists by keeping watch on the surrounding countryside.

"Will they be able to make it up into orbit on their own?" asked Gaines as she watched the Scimitar begin another wide turn over the two remaining transports.

"They should have enough fuel," replied Brenner as he looked back around the tarmac.

All around the area, opened and unopened crates littered the once immaculately clear tarmac; debris from the efforts to move as many supplies into orbit along with the evacuees.

"What about him?" asked the police officer as he pointed over at the restrained gunmen.

"Frak him, we should leave him for the Cylons," replied Gaines bitterly.

"You can't do that!" shouted the man, his voice utter panic. "You have to take me with you!"

"Hate to admit it, but he's right," muttered the police officer. "Bit of a violation of his civil liberties."

"It would be kind of tuff to explain why we left a civilian cuffed to the control tower," interjected Captain Brenner.

"I don't have a problem with it," shrugged Bowman, immediately drawing a few curious glances.

Letting out a long sigh, Gaines looked over and saw that most everyone had finally reached the control tower, Marines, civilian police, emergency workers, everyone still left planet-side at the depot. Behind them, one of the transports started to lift away from the tarmac, the other still sitting with its hatchway open, waiting. Overhead, the Scimitar made another low pass.

At last, the final team assembled on Gaines at the control tower.

"Okay Marines, we've pulled off one hell-of-a damned good job today," she said simply as she pointed over towards the final waiting transport. "Now it's _our_ turn to get the hell off this rock. Civilians first; police, EMT's form up into your evac sticks, two by two, ten meters between each pair, everyone else spread out and wait your turn. Let's get it done!"

With that, the assemblage spread back out into a wide circle around the assembly area, some taking a knee, others simply standing; half their attention on the trees, half their attention on the waiting transport.

As the whine of the transports engines coming up to an idle echoed out across the tarmac, Gaines looked over at the horizon; the sun had begun to set casting surreal hues of orange through the distant plumes of dust being carried skyward.

If those dust clouds had been anything else but the radioactive plumes of nuclear ordnance snuffing out cities, it might have been a lovely view.

Looking back over at the transport, Gaines saw that most of the civilian police officers and EMT's had made their way aboard the transport, their eagerness to leave creating its own efficiency in that regard.

"Okay, Reservists next, two by twos," snapped Gaines evenly as she toggled the transmit switch for her wireless set.

Again, at the ends of the wide circle, Marine Reservists two at a time began to jog away towards the transport.

"Well," sighed Brenner, grinning widely as Gaines turned back to look at the Reserve Captain. "Looks like we did it, none too soon either, the Scimitar thinks it saw…"

The round ripped through Brenner's head so suddenly, so explosively that Gaines felt the mortally wounded officer's blood spray across her face before she heard the thunderous crack of the shot echo through the air.

Stunned, Gaines watched as Brenner's limp body, the entire left side of his head shattered, crumbled to the ground.

Absently wiping the warm blood from her face, Gaines suddenly had the wind knocked from her as the Private Kevin Sati tackled her, more shots echoing through the air as they tumbled to a stop.

Finding herself looking up into Private Sati's dead eyes, Gaines slowly, desperately swam back to coherency as she shoved the dead Marine's body off of her, flopping it over onto the tarmac, blood pouring from the gaping wounds through his chest.

"Cylons!" shouted someone.

With the sound of rapid gunfire echoing out across the area, a thunderous barrage began ripping up the concrete, ripping up Marines, medics and police, everything.

"Take cover!" shouted Gaines, at last breaking from her shock.

The first pair of Marines who'd set off towards the transport, apparently not hearing the order to take cover over the transport engines, disappeared in a hail of gunfire, the rounds tearing up the tarmac around them as they collapsed. Stunned, the attendant at the top of the transport's entry gantry ducked back inside the hatchway.

Total chaos erupted all around the landing field.

Marines caught in the open dropped down to the ground, clutching at their helmets as neat impact lines stitched their ways towards them, around them, and in some cases, through them. Still more made mad dashes towards the storage crates littering the airfield.

Some made it…

Others didn't…

Gaines's eyes darted about the tarmac; all around, bodies lying still, blood pouring out of wounds; one Marine lay writhing on the ground, clutching his belly as another Marine dashed across the open, grabbed hold of his belt and began desperately pulling the injured man, only to be cut down himself.

Slowly, a few of the Marines recovered from the shock of the sudden ambush and began returning fire towards the tree line bordering the airfield.

Focusing her attention again, this time on the tree line, Gaines watched as first one, then three, a dozen, two-dozen chrome figures emerged from the underbrush.

They were Cylons, no doubts about that.

That menacing red eye pulsating back and forth…

But they were not like the ones Gaines was used to seeing in museum display cases; they were newer, larger, more angular and severe looking, with slender limbs and arm-mounted cannons that were laying down a terrifying hail of gunfire, raining death across the huddled figures strewn about the flight line.

Deftly bringing her carbine up, Gaines clicked the safety off and fired a few rounds at the chrome figures.

No effect…

She aimed in again, center mass, and pulled the trigger.

If the rounds had hit, and Gaines was certain her aim had been true, it didn't seem to have any effect.

Barely fazed, if at all, the Cylon she'd been aiming at turned and returned fire in Gaines's direction.

Dropping flat to the deck, Gaines watched as the rounds, rounds meant for _her_, ripped into the already still form of Captain Brenner and then into the hapless man cuffed to the control tower.

Peeking her head up ever so slightly to reacquire sight on the Cylons, Gaines watched in horror as still more rounds fired by some of her Marines slammed into the chrome figures and literally bounced off.

Their standard issue soft-core ammo was completely ineffective…

"Oh, frak me…"

* * *

Bowman huddled in closer behind the half empty crate of soap, or beans, whatever the frak had been inside, and closed his eyes as Cylons rounds ripped the upper edges of the crate into splinters. Slowly ducking down a little more with each impact, Bowman peaked his eyes open and looked around.

Bodies lay strewn out across the tarmac, some clearly dead, others writhing in horrific pain, some actually continuing to shoot back defiantly until another neat line of Cylon rounds stitched their way towards them, finishing them off.

"_Motherfrak me, our rounds aren't doing a fraking thing to them!_" shouted someone over the wireless, Bowman wasn't quite certain who.

Peeking out from around the corner of the crate, Bowman watched as the rounds being fired back at the Cylons did indeed do little more than plink harmlessly against their armored hides.

As if not believing his own eyes, Bowman drew down with his own carbine, and fired off a few rounds.

Nothing…

"Oh, that's just not _right_," he grunted as he slumped back in against the crate.

Looking down, Bowman caught sight of his holstered sidearm.

One thought flashed through his mind.

Explosive rounds…

Yanking the sidearm clear of the holster, Bowman reached into an ammo pouch on his gear, pulled an explosive round out, slipped it into the sidearm's under-slung launcher, then peered out around the corner of the crate again.

The range was a little far, but…

Aiming in, Bowman slowly lifted the barrel of the sidearm a bit higher to arc the round a little further, and then fired the explosive round.

With a satisfying thud, the explosive round hit home, tearing a significant hole in the Cylon's chest armor. Stunned, malfunctioning, the Cylon twitched for a moment where it stood, then dropped to the ground in a heap.

"Explosive rounds!" shouted Bowman into his wireless mic as he ducked back in behind the crate and fumbled in the ammo pouch for another round. "Use your sidearms!"

After loading another explosive round into the sidearm's launcher, Bowman again peered around the crate, looking for another target.

At first he wasn't sure anyone else had heard him, but as he began to drawn down on another Cylon with his side arm, two explosive rounds fired by someone somewhere else ripped into the Cylon, dropping it.

Looking for still another target, Bowman caught sight of two Cylons erecting something at the edge of the tree line.

As they slid a cylinder into place, he realized what it was; a mortar.

As one of the Cylons dropped the first round down the mortar tube, the projectile launched skyward with a cracking thud, falling back down and exploding a few meters away, right in the center of a cluster of Marines.

Aiming in, he fired another explosive round.

One of the Cylons manning the mortar was thrown back by the impact, tumbling back into the bushes with a crash.

A hail of gunfire slammed into the crate next to him, shredding it still further, kicking up a torrent of splintered wood that rained down around Bowman.

Looking up, Bowman caught sight of Corporal Sera Lenore as she dashed over towards one of the Marines who'd been hit by the mortar blast.

Glancing back over at the lone Cylon still manning the mortar, Bowman saw the machine preparing to load another round into the tube.

His attention snapping back to Lenore, Bowman saw her trying to pull one of the still writhing Marines back in behind cover.

"Get out of there, Lenore!" he shouted into the wireless.

If she'd heard him, she gave no indication.

"Frak!"

Jumping up, Bowman sprinted out across the tarmac, the crisp crack of rounds ripping through the air around him spurring him still faster.

Not looking away, not slowing, Bowman dashed headlong towards Lenore as he heard the low thump of the mortar firing.

A split second later, Bowman slammed full force into Lenore, the two of them collapsing hard against the ground, tumbling away as the mortar round, fortuitously a ground-burst rather than an air-burst, exploded on the exact spot they had occupied only a moment before.

His ears ringing, Bowman lay prone across Lenore as the dust and concrete tossed up by the blast rained down around them.

"Get the frak off of me!" shouted Lenore as she shoved at Bowman.

"You're welcome," huffed Bowman as he scooted back in behind another crate, all but dragging Lenore behind him as he moved.

"Let go of me!" snapped Lenore as she shoved at his arm.

Fumbling with another explosive round, Bowman loaded the round, peaked around the crate, aimed in and fired, knocking out the second Cylon at the mortar.

"With all due respect, _Corporal_, stay here, you'll live longer!" barked Bowman as he looked back over at Lenore.

Her expression utterly shocked, Lenore was speechless but nevertheless remained behind the crate as Bowman reaching down into his ammo pouch, his hand fumbling about fruitlessly inside.

It was empty…

He was out of explosive rounds…

Glancing around, Bowman caught sight of the shredded remains of the Marine Lenore had been trying to pull to safety.

Although little remained but a torso, Bowman saw an intact explosive round lying near the body.

Slowly, mindful of the rounds ripping through the air all around, he began to crawl back out across the tarmac.

Looking back over at the tree line, he saw that the mortar was still out of action, at least, the Cylons manning it were, but about two-dozen more stood firing from the tree line with relative impunity, their withering fire keeping the Colonials completely pinned down.

As he again began making his way towards the explosive round lying on the ground, Bowman glanced up just in time to see one of the Cylons turn his direction and raise up its arm-mounted weapons. With a slight kick, Bowman quickly rolled to his side, back towards the crate as a line of rounds stitched across the concrete where he'd just been lying.

With a thump, he slumped back in against the crate, bumping into Corporal Lenore, who simply sat glaring back down at him.

"Hello again, Corporal," he grinned. "Don't suppose you have any explosive rounds on you?"

* * *

Captain Gaines glanced rapidly around the flight line.

For all the shock of the initial ambush, her people had seemed to recover enough to at least consolidate into small groups behind cover.

Huddled in behind crates, debris, whatever they could find, several of them continued to brave the withering fire being laid down by the Cylons to fire off explosive rounds from their sidearms, apparently the only ammo they had that was having any effect.

Unfortunately, not everyone was armed with the sidearms, most simply had the relatively ineffective carbines.

Those that did were for the most part able to fire off their rounds and duck rapidly back down behind cover.

A few were not so lucky.

All about the tarmac, bodies lay writhing, screaming, several more not moving at all, sickening pools of blood collecting beneath them.

Marines, Reservists and Active alike, as well as a few of the civilian cops and EMTs who hadn't yet made it aboard the transport were pinned down, dead or dying.

With a grunt of angry frustration, Gaines slammed the crate with her elbow.

Looking out across the tarmac, she caught sight of the transport still waiting, engines at high idle, the attendant who had been waiting at the entry hatch now lying crumpled at the bottom of the loading stairwell.

The Scimitar gunship was on the horizon making a wide arc back towards the airfield.

Suddenly, a dull thump echoed out across the flight line, punctuating the deafening staccato of small arms fire.

Peeking over the crate, Gaines saw that the Cylons had managed to set up a second mortar position.

The crisp crack of the round exploding startled Gaines.

With horror, she realized the Cylons were attempting to shell the civilian transport.

Fortunately, the first round had landed short.

"Junkyard-Six to Colonial-Heavy Two-Zero-Seven," snapped the Captain as she toggled the switch for the wireless. "We can't get to you, seal up and get the frak out of here while you still can!"

For a moment, she received no response from the crew of the civilian liner.

Another dull thump, and another round landed, still closer to liner, close enough that debris clattered down against the hull.

"Junkyard-Six to Colonial-Heavy Two-Zero-Seven, do you copy? Get the frak out of here now!"

"_We copy, Junkyard-Six_," replied the audibly somber voice of the liner pilot.

As the low whine of the engines at idle was replaced by them throttling up, the civilian liner began to lift from the ground, knocking over the roll-away stairs as the ship trembled for a moment then jumped into the air.

A hard gust of wind blasted across the debris strewn tarmac, sending a roiling mass of flotsam tumbling across the ground as the ship ascended into the air, the sound of its engines fading as it rapidly ascended away.

In the distance, Gaines saw the Scimitar continuing to turn back in towards the airfield.

"Junkyard-Six to Scimitar One-Zero-Five, do you copy?"

"_This is Scimitar One-Zero-Five, we copy, send your traffic_."

"You are to provide escort for Colonial-Heavy Two-Zero-Seven; get them into orbit."

As with the civilian liner, there was a pause.

* * *

**Scimitar One-Zero-Five  
**

"She _can't_ be serious," muttered Lieutenant John Becker. "They're getting ripped to shreds down there; they'll be trapped."

Holding the controls of the Scimitar steady, Lieutenant Samantha Larson hesitated to answer.

Under fire, Captain Gaines had basically consigned herself and her people to die at the airfield by ordering the liner to lift off without them.

True, the Cylons had them pinned down.

Still, in the midst of all that had already been lost, it was hard to leave people behind.

"_Do you copy, Scimitar One-Zero-Five_?" barked the voice of Captain Gaines over the wireless, the sharp snap of an explosion echoing in the background.

"Scimitar One-Zero-Five copies," growled Lieutenant Larson as she reluctantly pulled back on the stick, nosing the Scimitar skyward after the rising civilian liner.

Angling the agile craft slightly to the left, Larson looked back down at the airfield.

In the fading light of the setting sun, the distinct muzzle flashes of the Cylons and Marines exchanging fire could be seen.

And there were a _lot_ of muzzle flashes.

Rolling the craft back away, Larson forced herself to look skyward, focusing in on the sight of Colonial-Heavy Two-Zero-Seven's stern directly ahead.

"Scimitar One-Zero-Five to Colonial-Heavy Two-Zero-Seven," sighed Larson as she slipped in neatly behind the rising liner. "We've got your tail."

* * *

Watching the Scimitar rise away after the liner, framed against the setting sun, Gaines felt her heart sink a bit.

True she was the one who had ordered the two craft away, but damned if she wasn't able to _feel_ the impact of the decision, the sense of looming hopelessness at consigning not only herself but her people as well to being slaughtered on the ground by the Cylons.

"This is Junkyard-Six, team leaders give me a status report," snapped Gaines as she glanced over the top edge of the crate.

A dull thump, no two, the first mortar had another crew and was back in action, and two distinct explosions ripped out across the tarmac.

"_This is Junkyard One-Three, I've got twelve people over here pinned down, three wounded, no eyes on target_."

"_Junkyard One-Five, seven down, two KIA, unable to get a good bead on them here either._"

The next several transmissions pretty much told the same story; everyone was pinned down; between the mortar and small arms fire being put down by the Cylons, breaking from cover had become veritable suicide.

A few people had managed to pick off a couple of the Cylons with explosive rounds, but with the sun beginning to set and most of the rounds having already been fired, Gaines felt her already too few options whittling down to even fewer.

"Can anyone break out to the flank?" she huffed, flinching as another mortar round exploded, this one much closer.

Several brisk replies of 'negative' left Gaines searching for something, _anything_.

If she was going to die, she didn't want to do it huddled behind a crate.

* * *

Lieutenant Samantha Larson slowly, tensely flexed her fingers around the control stick, her eyes practically glaring at the aft end of Colonial-Heavy Two-Zero-Seven.

Over the wireless, the chatter between the Marines on the ground left little doubt about the inevitable outcome of the battle taking place; the grunts were going to be blasted, shot up and slaughtered unless something, _someone_, intervened.

Larson felt her jaw beginning to ache; she hadn't even realized she'd been clenching her teeth.

"Colonial-Heavy Two-Zero-Seven, what's your status?" asked Larson.

"_Everything is fine over here, should be breaking atmo in a few minutes_."

"Copy that," replied Larson simply.

Looking down at DRADIS, even through the interference being created by the radiation, Larson saw nothing in the skies except for Colonial-Heavy Two-Zero-Seven.

"What are you thinking, Sam?" muttered Becker warily from the rear seat.

"I'm thinking we're flying a bit heavy right now," replied Larson evenly as she punched a few keys that ran the computer through a check on the small ship's ordnance inventory. "Thought we might try and drop some of this ordnance we have tucked underneath, bring our weight down a bit before we break orbit."

"Uh, huh," replied Becker dubiously. "And I'm sure you already have an idea of _where_ you'd like to drop it?"

"I have an idea, yes," answered Larson, grinning. "Any objections?"

"I'm just along for the ride," replied Becker flatly as he reached out to the weapons control panel before him and began arming the small craft's weapons systems.

"Scimitar One-Zero-Five to Colonial-Heavy Two-Zero-Seven," began Larson as she reached up and tightened the chair retention straps draped over her shoulders. "Your escape trajectory is looking good and the skies are clear of bandits; we've got something we need to take care of really quick back down on the surface."

"_This is Colonial-Heavy Two-Zero-Seven, we copy you Scimitar One-Zero-Five_," replied the civilian liner's pilot, his tone indicating he already understood what it was the Scimitar crew was about to do. "_Gods be with you, and good hunting._"

With a hard yank on the control stick, Larson nosed the Scimitar over, the gut-wrenching turn rapidly shifting the view through the canopy from the endless sky above to the vast, darkening ground below.

"Hold on tight, Becker, cause I'm kicking in the turbos," said Larson as she flexed her fingers around the small ship's throttle controls.

"No point going anywhere if you're not willing to get there fast; let's do it."

Pushing the throttles open all the way, the kick of acceleration pushed Larson back into her seat, the Scimitar, pulled by gravity and pushed by its own powerful engines, dove in, crashing through the sound barrier.

* * *

With the sun fading fast on the horizon, Gaines knew the coming dusk and darkness did little to help the Marines pinned down by Cylon fire.

Cylons had infrared.

Gods damn it if most of their own night-vision gear wasn't sitting in the equipment locker back at the guard shack.

Another mortar round exploded, this time far too close for Gaines's comfort, concrete and other debris raining down around her, the dust blinding her momentarily.

With the Marines spread out, holding to whatever cover they could find, the Cylons were beginning to shell the area, methodically peppering them with indirect fire.

As the dust cloud around her cleared a bit, she again peered over the crate.

Damned Cylons had put a third mortar into place…

A round slammed into her helmet, the impact tossing her over onto the tarmac.

Stunned, her head aching, Gaines reached up and unhooked her chinstrap.

Dazed, Gaines held up her helmet and saw two holes ripped through the laminate construct; one entry and one exit.

Tossing the now-useless helmet aside, Gaines reached up, touched her head, and felt a sharp pain. Pulling her hand back down, she saw that her fingers had blood on them.

Ignoring the pain, Gaines pressed down on the wound and scooted back in behind the crate as another mortar round exploded even closer, raining more debris down upon her.

Flopping back down against the crate, Gaines retrieved her wireless headset and slipped it back into place over her ear, then reapplied pressure to the throbbing wound on her scalp.

"…_say again this is Scimitar One-Zero-Five to Junkyard-Six, do you copy_?"

Groggy, her head spinning a bit, Gaines reached down and toggled the wireless set to transmit.

"This is Junkyard-Six, send your traffic."

* * *

"Captain, I need you and your people to mark your lines for me," said Lieutenant Larson as she looked out the canopy at the darkened ground beyond.

With the sun fully set, night was closing in, robbing Larson of a great deal of visibility.

Reaching out to the console, a difficult prospect under the several G's-worth of force pinning her to the seat as the Scimitar continued its turbo-accelerated freefall, Larson toggled the full canopy HUD in front of her for light enhancement. Instantly, the view went from almost complete dark beyond her canopy to a surreal mix of varying hues of green as the IR enhancement gave her a crystal-clear view of the ground rushing up from below.

"_This is Junkyard-Six, why do you need us to mark our lines_?" asked Gaines over wireless.

"With all due respect, I don't have time for chit-chat," replied Larson as she watched the ground below looming ever closer, ever more rapidly. "I need you to mark your lines _now_!"

Pulling back on the stick, Larson brought the nose of the Scimitar back up, rocketing along the high ridges lining a deep valley, slipping the agile craft into the terrain features to mask its approach from any possible DRADIS track.

* * *

Stunned, both from the wound to her head and from the unexpected wireless message from Scimitar One-Zero-Five, Gaines looked up into the darkening sky, the first stars beginning to twinkle through the fading dusk.

"I thought I ordered you into orbit," snapped Gaines.

"_You did_," replied the Scimitar's pilot flatly. "_Now I say again, mark your lines unless you want my ordnance to drop short!_"

Gaines sat there, uncertain.

How the hell was she going to have her people mark their positions?

In the dark, smoke grenades were worthless…

No, wait; the dark…

"Junkyard-Six to all units, I say again, _all units_; airstrike inbound, we need to mark our lines visually; flashlights, chem-lights, your lucky lighter, anything, just mark your positions right fraking now."

A quick series of acknowledgements filtered in over the wireless as all around the area several lights burst to life.

"_Okay, we've got you Junkyard-Six_," replied the Scimitar pilot.

"Be advised, your targets are approximately two dozen plus Centurions holding position in the tree line approximately one hundred meters to our South," stated Gaines as she too pulled out her own flashlight and shined it skyward.

"_Copy that Junkyard-Six; we'll be coming in low and fast from your East-North-East; tell your people to hug the ground because we are bringing the rain_."

* * *

"You got that target position locked in yet, Becker?" shouted Larson as she streaked in over the far end of the boneyard, the airfield coming up rapidly before her.

"Targets acquired," replied Becker as he reached up and toggled a couple last switches on the board in front of him. "Master arm is active, weapons are hot."

On the HUD before her, Larson watched as the system highlighted several targets on the ground; Centurions lined up at the edge of the underbrush, including the three mortar positions.

Reaching over, Larson toggled the switch that locked the targets on the HUD in the Scimitar's targeting computer. As the system quickly zeroed in on the Cylon positions, Larson gently, expectantly flexed her fingers around the control stick, ready, indeed, _eager_ to raze the area with the auto-cannon mounted under the chin of the Scimitar.

"This is Scimitar Zero-One-Five, targets acquired, weapons free, committing," called Larson as she pulled back on the trigger.

Instantly, the multi-barrel cannon mounted under the nose erupted to life, unleashing a hail of high-explosive armor piercing rounds that ripped satisfyingly into the tree line.

* * *

Almost as soon as she'd heard the Scimitar rocketing in from the darkness, the deafening drone of the craft's chin-mounted cannon startled Gaines as it burst to life. Sounding nothing like the rhythmic staccato of normal gunfire, the cannon instead let out a thunderous, sonorous drone that roared out across the tarmac.

Behind her, Gaines heard a deafening racket as the hail of several hundred rounds of HEAP ammunition crashed into the tree line. Cylons, trees, rocks, it didn't matter, everything was mowed down as the Scimitar rocketed past, the strafing run all but shredding every last Centurion in a matter of moments.

As the Scimitar began a wide turn to come back around, Gaines continued to watch the tree line suspiciously. Through the darkness and the dust, it was hard to see, but the terrible hail of gunfire that had been coming from the Cylons had ceased.

Poking her head up a little further, very much cognizant of the fact that she no longer had a helmet, Gaines was startled when rounds once again slammed into the crate.

Slumping back down a bit as a few more rounds slammed into the already shredded crate, Gaines muttered a low curse before toggling the switch for her wireless set.

"This is Junkyard-Six, I don't suppose you have something a little heavier to bring to the party; our 'friends' still want to dance."

* * *

"Becker?" shot Larson as she brought the Scimitar back around onto the same attack angle.

"Patience is a virtue," muttered Becker as he toggled a few more controls on his panel.

"Not _right now_ it's not," shot back Larson as she watched another couple dozen more Centurions emerge from the shattered tree line on her HUD.

"Optimum dispersal for ground strike plotted, weapons set to drop free as we make our next pass," called Becker an instant later.

Looking down at the fire control display on her own panel, Larson verified that a drop solution had indeed been locked into the system, the fire control computer ready to drop the half dozen cluster munitions tucked underneath the craft right in the middle of the Cylon positions.

Lining back up, Larson again looked out through the HUD and brought the gun to bear on the targets below.

Just because the computer had control of the bombs didn't mean she couldn't have a little more satisfying fun of her own on this pass too.

Pulling the trigger, the HUD in front of her lit up as the rounds erupting from the chin cannon ripped into the tree line once again.

As the ground and the targets below rushed by, Larson felt a distinct jolt as the under slung ordnance dropped away.

* * *

To be sure, however many Cylons had managed to survive the Scimitar's punishing strafing runs were now without a doubt shattered by the thunderous explosions that ripped along the tree line and lit up the night sky. Engulfing the entire length of the Cylon position, the detonations shook the ground beneath Gaines as she huddled down behind the crate. An instant later, a hot gust of wind and hail of debris from the shattered tree line blew past as a massive fireball and plume of dust rose into the darkness.

Gaines was startled when the severed arm of a Centurion dropped down onto the ground beside her, the razor thin fingers shuddering spasmodically for a moment before curling eerily into stillness.

Nevertheless, the gunfire from the tree line had been silenced.

Not taking any chances this time, Gaines reached up and toggled her wireless.

"This is Junkyard-Six to all units, let's get the frak out of here while we still can!" burst Gaines as she snatched up her carbine, jumped to her feet and began running off across the landing strip away from the tree line. "All units to fall back to Post Five-Echo for regroup and consolidation!"

Looking back hesitantly, Gaines was grateful when she saw no more Centurions emerging, their former lines shattered, small fires sporadically crackling over the devastated area. Overhead, the low rumble of the Scimitar's engines could be heard, even if the craft itself was now obscured by the night sky.

"_This is Scimitar One-Zero-Five, good luck to you Junkyard-Six_," said the Scimitar pilot over wireless as Gaines caught sight of the glowing flames from the craft's engines begin to rise once more skyward.

"To us all One-Zero-Five, go with the gods," replied Gaines as she continued to watch the Scimitar rise up into the night sky.

At last, the several small clusters of Marines who'd survived the Cylon ambush began to rise up from behind their cover.

"Let's move it people!"

* * *

The Three and the Six stood on the small hill looking down as the humans began moving away from their positions along the shattered airfield.

"These humans are _real_ nuisance," muttered the Three disgustedly as she watched them retreat back towards the boneyard.

"Our attack on the Colonies is going _better_ than our most optimistic projections," replied the Six as she too watched the humans go.

"Maybe so, but there are still numerous pockets of resistance," countered the Three as she looked down at the fires crackling in the underbrush of the shattered tree line. "They simply refuse to accept that they've lost."

"Chasing down the _Galactica_ is only a matter of time," said the Six evenly.

"It's the Ones who are obsessed with finding that pitiful old Battlestar, not the Threes," replied the Three bitterly. "I'm talking about the other ships we haven't been able to account for yet; there are other Colonials still out there…"

"And they too will be dealt with in time," continued the Six as she turned away from the airfield and looked up at the night sky above. "They cannot hope to avoid destiny; God is on our side."

Just then two Raiders shrieked by overhead, turning skyward in pursuit of the attack craft that had shattered the Centurion assault.

Looking back over at the Three, the Six smiled.

"And if God be with us, who can stand against us?"

* * *

"Frak! Bandits, six o'clock low, coming up fast," shouted Becker as the Scimitar continued to hurtle spaceward.

Glancing down at DRADIS, Lieutenant Samantha Larson had no trouble seeing the two Raiders closing in fast from behind.

Looking back away in mild disgust, Larson flexed her fingers around the control stick.

"We can't go into orbit," she muttered a moment later.

"What, why?"

"If we go up into orbit with those two Raiders following us, it will give away the position of the evacuees," replied Larson as she glared back down at the DRADIS. "We compromise the civilians and this whole thing will be for nothing."

"So what do we do?" asked Becker flatly.

With her eyes still locked on DRADIS, Larson wondered as much herself. The Scimitar was a gunship, optimized for ground attack, not dogfighting.

"Well, we can wait for them to fire some rounds right up our ass," offered Larson.

"Pass on that; next option?"

"Well, when did you last eat?"

"Hours ago, breakfast, why?"

"Oh, no reason," replied Larson with a wry smile. "It just means you won't have anything to throw up when I do _this_."

With a hard yank on the control stick, Larson nosed the Scimitar back over into a near vertical dive back towards the darkness below.

The already rapidly closing Raiders on DRADIS zoomed in even fast.

"A little more warning next time," moaned Becker from the rear seat.

"Unless I can pull this off there won't _be_ a next time," countered Larson flatly.

As the HUD locked onto the two approaching Raiders, Larson flexed her fingers around the control stick, her finger poised over the trigger as she focused her attention on keeping the HUD crosshair on one of the two Cylon fighters rushing up at her.

Buffeted hard by turbulence, the small craft shook as it dropped back through the thickening atmosphere, complicating Larson's attempt to sight in.

"Come on, come on," she hissed through clenched teeth.

Out of the darkness, two sets of tracers stitched the air towards the Scimitar, missing the mark, but not by much.

Another hard lurch of turbulence and Larson brought the crosshairs back onto one of the targets.

Pulling the trigger, the air lit up with another bursts of tracers, her own this time, as they ripped through one of the closing Raiders.

As the shattered fighter exploded, the second veered away as the Scimitar rocketed past the falling debris.

"Aren't you going to pull up now?" shouted Becker as he watched the ground continue to grow closer.

"Got an idea," snapped Larson as she continued to hold the craft steady in the buffeting turbulence. "Bring the FTL online."

"What, you want me to do a jump from inside the atmosphere?"

"Do you _really_ think we have time to argue this?" shot Larson as she watched the surviving Raider fall back in on their tail.

"Coordinates?"

"Use your imagination."

Reaching out to his panel, Becker frantically set about bringing the small craft's FTL online.

"You've got about forty seconds before we hit the pavement," called Larson. "No rush!"

"Thanks!"

As the craft's FTL was spinning up, Becker snatched up his flight book and rapidly flipped through it, searching for the page that held the several sets of preplotted coordinates.

Hard as it was to focus in on the print, much less actually hold the book with the Scimitar shaking about, Becker nevertheless managed to punch in the coordinates for one of the Fleet's emergency rally points.

"Wait, was that a _five_ or a _six_?" burst Becker, as he frantically searched for the correct page in his binder, the book having been slammed shut by the shuddering of the ship.

Her eyes intently locked on the onrushing ground ahead, Larson nevertheless kept glancing back at DRADIS, the surviving Raider once more their tail growing ever closer.

"Becker!"

"Frak it!" burst the Weapons Officer as he tossed the book over his shoulder and punched in the final coordinates into the console. "Spun, synched, FTL ready!"

Without another word, Larson dropped the throttles to idle and pitched the Scimitar into another acrobatic turn that still left her craft plummeting towards the ground, only now it was doing so _backwards_.

Larson fought against the massive increase in turbulence, and not waiting for a firm lock with the HUD, began laying down a suppressive barrage back up at the pursuing Raider, throwing it off its course for one critical moment.

"Do it, Becker!"

Slamming his hand down on the activator switch, the small Scimitar was enveloped in a flash of light a scant few meters above the surface of the ground.

Instantly, _very_ far away from the surface of Sagittaron, the Scimitar emerged from the jump into clear, serene deep space.

No longer caught in the gravity well of a planetary body, nor plummeting through a thick atmosphere, the Scimitar became eerily quiet.

As the small gunship drifted along on inertia, both Larson and Becker sat silent, stunned, only the sound of their own heavy breathing filtering in over the helmet speakers.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Larson gulped down the lump in her throat.

"Well," she panted. "_That_ was different."

"We might need to go back," groaned Becker.

"Why?"

"I'm not sure my stomach made the jump with us."

At that, both Larson and Becker let out a tension-shattering chuckle.

"So, where are we Becker?" asked Larson as the laughter faded.

Leaning back in over his panel, Becker tapped a few keys on his panel, and then scowled.

"Um…"

"Um?" echoed Larson, straining against the seat restraints to turn and look back at her WO. "What's '_um_'? I don't like 'um', Becker."

"I guess it _was_ a six after all," he muttered weakly as he settled back into his seat and looked out past the cockpit canopy.

"Becker, don't you dare tell me you have no idea where we are."

There was a pause.

Then Becker shrugged.

"I have no idea where we are, Sam."

"I just told you _not_ to tell me that," groaned Larson as she looked out at the endless backdrop of stars.

"Couldn't think of a wittier way to tell, you, sorry."

Slumping back against her seat, Larson kept looking out at the endless expanse of deep space.

Shaking her head slightly, she couldn't help but grin a little as she released her hold on the controls.

For several moments, the air was silent, Larson just sat staring out past the canopy, Becker at the readouts on his panel.

"Oh, what, one little nav error and you're not going to talk to me now?" asked Becker as he began pouring over the star charts in the Scimitar's computer.

"You want me to say something?" began Larson, shaking her head as she fixated on one particularly bright star an eternity away. "Fine I'll say something."

Pausing, Becker looked forward at the Larson as she in turn unbuckled the restraints and looked back at him, the barest hint of a grin still creasing her lips.

"You're _fired_."

* * *

**Colonial Fleet Reclamation and Reserve Maintenance Depot  
****Sagittaron Colony  
****Post Five-Echo  
**

Captain Jordan Gaines slowed from a near sprint and looked around at the other Marines who'd made it through to the assembly point at Post Five-Echo.

Tired, bloodied, some wounded and being helped along by other Marines, it was the first concrete chance Gaines had to gauge how costly the Cylon ambush had been.

By all accounts it seemed she may have lost as many as one fifth of her Marines in the ambush. Most of the civilian police and emergency personnel, as well as a good number of the Marine Reservists had made it off world on the last transport.

But not all, a few straggled in alongside the rest of her people

"Team Leaders, on me," huffed Gaines as she motioned them over.

As the tired cluster of Team Leaders moved in, Gaines kept a wary eye on the boneyard, on edge, half expecting more Centurions to emerge any second.

"All right, listen up, team leaders, reassemble your teams, squad leaders, take head counts," began Gaines through gasps. "Also, check your people, anyone with Five-Seven sidearms, find out how many explosive rounds they have left..."

Gaines's voice trailed off as another sound echoed out between the rows of decommissioned Vipers.

It was a vehicle…

And it was getting closer…

"Spread out!" snapped Gaines.

Instantly, the small group broke away, everyone at the assembly area spreading out to find cover.

The one good thing about being surrounded by decommissioned junk, there was plenty of cover.

The few Marines armed with Five-Sevens aimed their weapons towards the sound of the closing vehicle. A few of the Marines armed with carbines, in spite of the relative ineffectiveness of the weapons against Centurions, also aimed their weapons at the approaching vehicle.

Even in the low light, Gaines was able to see the cloud of dust being kicked up in the vehicle's wake as it made its way up one of the lanes.

"Steady," hissed Gaines, toggling her wireless set as she began to see the outline of the vehicle. "Short, controlled bursts, people."

"_Hold your fire_!" burst a voice over the wireless.

Stunned, Gaines watched as the detachment's own transport vehicle suddenly emerged from the darkness and slid to a halt a few meters from her.

Instantly both the doors of the cab flew open, Corporal Lenore emerging from the passenger side, and Lance Corporal Bowman from the driver's side.

Letting out a deep sigh of relief, Gaines stood up from behind the decrepit Viper she'd taken cover behind and made her way over towards the vehicle. As she did so, Gaines was surprised to see a couple more Marines hop out from the rear compartment of the vehicle as well.

"Corporal Lenore reporting, Captain," began Lenore as she snapped to attention and raised her hand to salute Gaines.

Even before Lenore's fingers reached the edge of her helmet, Gaines swiped out with her hand and knocked away Lenore's hand, leaving Lenore utterly shocked by the sudden strike.

"No salutes," growled Gaines as she reflexively looked out into the surrounding darkness. "I don't feel like being Centurion sniper bait today."

Still taken aback by Gaines's smack at her hand, Lenore took a step backward.

"Sorry, Captain, I was just…" stammered Lenore, recovering a moment later enough to continue. "I ordered Lance Corporal Bowman to rendezvous per your orders but he _insisted_ on returning to the guard shack first."

"What of it, Bowman?" snapped Gaines, instantly redirecting some of her ire on the junior Marine. "Why didn't you follow my order to regroup, bringing this damned vehicle here only increases the risk the Cylons will be able to locate us and press their attack…"

"And with all due respect, Corporal, Captain," began Bowman as he reached back inside the driver's door and withdrew a substantial looking assault rifle. "Considering the fact that the carbines and standard rounds proved pretty much worthless, I thought it might be a good idea to have _these_ along if they _did_ press their attack."

It was then that Gaines noticed that the Marines who'd jumped out of the back of the vehicle were quickly handing out several more of the heavier weapons to the Marines assembling around the vehicle.

"Mark Forty-Six's belt-feds, G-Thirty-Six rifles, a couple SA-Eighties, even a few MGLs and all the hard AP rounds we could find," continued Bowman as the Marines continued to pass out an armory's worth of heavy hardware. "Everything a few restless Marines need to scrap some Toasters."

"You took it upon yourself to go back to guard shack and retrieve these weapons?" asked Gaines as she watched the Marines start handing out boxes of armor-piercing ammunition for the heavier weapons.

"And these as well, Captain," continued Bowman as he handed a pair of night vision goggles and an undamaged helmet to Gaines.

Taking them, Gaines began to nod approvingly.

"Well, sorry to say I can't offer you an extended weekend liberty pass, Lance Corporal Bowman," began Gaines as she plopped the new helmet down onto her head. "Unfortunately about all I can do right now is promote you to Corporal, effective immediately. I'd say enjoy the raise in pay, but we've got bigger issues to deal with right now."

"Yes, ma'am, we do," replied Bowman as he slapped a magazine into the G-Thirty-Six he'd pulled from the vehicle and cycled the first round into the chamber.

"Now we need to figure out where we're going to go," continued Gaines as she pulled out a map and spread it across the hood of the vehicle.

Gaines was about to pull out a flashlight and was about turn it on, but again glancing into the suffocating darkness all around, thought better of it.

Motioning for her primary team leaders to follow, Gaines jumped up into the covered rear section of the vehicle, spread the map back out across a few ammo crates, toggled the flashlight to its red lens and then shone it down upon the map.

"Okay," she sighed as her team leaders leaned in over the map with her. "At this point we have to assume most of the major population centers are radioactive dead-zones."

Gaines knew she was intentionally 'glossing over' the horrible implication behind that statement, but also knew she didn't have time to allow either herself or her people to dwell on it.

"Prevailing winds are going to be pushing fallout over this area for weeks at best, so as I see it, we only have one real direction to go."

With that, Captain Gaines moved her finger in over a large section of the map to the North East of the depot.

"Serenity Valley," she said simply.

Looking up at her assembled team leaders, Gaines saw the hesitation in their eyes, and with good reason.

Serenity Valley was a massive 'no-go' zone, several times larger than the boneyard itself. On the map, the entire area was cross-hatched with several large, thick red lines, indicating that it was a place that no one was meant, or even allowed to enter.

"No offense, Captain, but that's _not_ possible," began Sergeant Zaida Gibbs as she gave her ballistic vest an uncomfortable tug. "Sagittaron's Parliamentary Council designated that a protected reserve almost forty years ago. Hell, you're not even supposed to land a _burning_ ship there under _emergency_ situations."

"Considering Sagittaron's Parliamentary Council is likely already dead, I doubt they're in much of a position to protest," replied Gaines flatly as she pulled out a compass, map protractor and a pad of paper and began scribbling down directions and bearings. "My job is to get my Marines to safety, keep them alive, and await rescue, and that's what I intend to do, Parliamentary decree or not."

Pausing, she looked back up at the assemblage around her.

"Believe me, if we make it out of this fraked up mess alive, I'll be happy to face a court-martial."

A few silent nods of agreement later, Gaines returned to scribbling down the proper bearings, taking out a map pen to mark out her intended route before continuing.

"Now, before we move out, I want you to check your teams," continued Gaines as she began mapping out the last few legs of the route. "I want to know food, water, ammo, med supplies, everything…"

The sound of several Marines outside shouting immediately cut into the assembled concentration.

"This is Gaines, give me a status report," snapped the Captain, toggling her wireless as she quickly turned off the flashlight.

"_This is Sims, I've got movement approximately forty meters to my South_," replied the Marine over the wireless.

"Get ready to move, people," snapped Gaines as she gathered up the map and other equipment.

Jumping back out of the vehicle, Captain Gaines and her team leaders filtered back out into the darkness as the sound of someone or something moving about in the boneyard continued to echo forth through the stifling black of night.

Pulling out the NVG's Bowman had given her, Gaines looked out towards the sound of movement.

Through the soft green glow of the light-enhancing device, Gaines caught sight of several more Marines making their way cautiously up one of the lanes.

"Sentries, issue a challenge," muttered Gaines, toggling her wireless set as she watched the small team, barely a full squad, continue to inch forward.

Up ahead, one of her Marines, aiming in on the approaching bodies from the cover of a collapsed Mark Two Viper, issued a verbal challenge.

Instantly, the approaching personnel took a knee as one of them made his way over to the challenging sentry.

"_Junkyard-Six, be advised, looks like we've got some stragglers from the Reserve unit_," called the sentry over the wireless. "_Twelve total; Corporal Candor is NCOIC _."

"Junkyard-Six copies, go ahead and bring them into our main body," replied Gaines evenly.

Gaines let out a long sigh as she watched the sentry lead the Marine Reserve squad closer. As she was about to drop the NVG's down away from her eyes, Gaines caught site of more movement beyond the approaching Marines.

Although everything was cast in several garish shades of green, what she could not miss was the single oscillating eye.

"Contact!" burst Gaines as she slapped her hand down on the transmit switch of the wireless, several more Centurions emerging from the cluttered boneyard. "Targets, direct front, to the South, range seventy meters!"

Just then, the Centurions stepped out from behind a row of old Vipers and opened up with the weapons mounted on their forearms.

Dropping down to the ground, Gaines heard the rounds rip into the canvas covering of the vehicle behind her.

Almost as instantly, the boneyard around her lit up with the muzzle flashes of automatic weapons fire as her Marines returned the exchange.

Unlike at the airfield however, these Centurions, maybe half a dozen total, were overwhelmed as the heavier weapons brought by Bowman let forth a hail of rounds that easily tore into the light armor which had so easily defeated the lighter carbines.

Within seconds, all of the Centurions had been ripped to shreds, lying shattered and still on the dusty ground.

"Cease fire, cease fire!" called Gaines as she looked out again through the NVG's at the unmoving heaps of scrap.

Spooked, trigger happy, a few Marines let off a couple more sporadic rounds, but soon the air was again as still as the unmoving Centurions.

Slowly lifting herself back up from the ground, Gaines looked around at her team leaders, and saw the form of Sergeant Gibbs writhing on the ground as the Medic, Corporal Peters, frantically slapped a compress bandage against the flowing blood coming from the young woman's neck. After a few moments, however, Gibbs' frantic, panicked movements began to cease as the soaked bandage began to seep blood through Peter's fingers, the Medic muttering a bitter curse before looking up at Gaines and shaking her head.

"Frak," muttered Gaines as she stepped over to Peters and Gibbs, leaning down just in time to hear the mortally wounded Gibbs take her last, desperate gasp of air.

Reaching down, Peters closed the unseeing eyes of Sergeant Gibbs.

"Should we get a burial detail?" asked Peters as she absently wiped some of Gibb's blood on her trouser leg.

"There's no time," sighed Gaines, stifling a curse. "Those won't be the last Centurions coming this way, best if we're not here when they get here."

Silent, Peters was about to protest, but instead simply nodded her head as she folded Gibbs' arms serenely across her chest.

Leaning in close, Peters whispered a quick prayer, then stood up, wiping a tear away as she shuffled past Gaines.

"This is Junkyard-Six, we're moving out," began Gaines evenly, toggling her wireless as she continued to look down at the unmoving body of Sergeant Gibbs. "Staggered column; first squad, you're on point; fourth squad you're to the rear, everyone else in the center of the formation. Let's get it done people."

As a few more Marines yanked the last ammo from the back of the vehicle, they quickly divvied it out to the passing column of first squad.

Stepping up to the locked fence, newly promoted Corporal Bowman looked down at the heavy rust-flecked padlock holding it shut.

"Ah, my old nemesis," he said lightly. "I don't suppose anybody's found the keys?"

"Improvise, Corporal Bowman," replied Gaines evenly as she stepped around to the front of the vehicle.

Without missing a beat, Bowman pulled his sidearm out, aimed in on the lock, and fired a single round through the large padlock, shattering the interior mechanism. With a grunt and a kick, the lock snapped loose as the gate swung wide open for the first time in uncounted years, the hinges squeaking horribly.

"You have _no_ idea how long I've been wanting to do that," muttered Bowman, smirking as he slapped the shoulder of one of the first squad Marines next to him.

With the gate now open, first squad, weapons and eyes scanning in all directions ahead, began making their way tentatively out along the overgrown road into the brush beyond.

Turning back, Captain Gaines reached out towards a passing Marine, pulled a thermite grenade from his gear, then motioned for a couple other Marines to load Sergeant Gibb's body into the back of the vehicle. Once they had put the body in the back, Gaines motioned them back towards the formation as she pulled the pin on the grenade, then set it down on the hood of the vehicle

With a pop, the grenade began burning its way first through the reinforced polymer hood, then through the vehicle's engine block.

Blocking her eyes to the near-blinding light of the thermite grenade burning its way through the engine, Captain Gaines turned and headed off through the gate as her Marines continued to march out around her. Behind them, the grenade ignited the vehicle's fuel tank, quickly enveloping the transport, and the body of Sergeant Gibbs in a billowing column of fire.

Swallowing the lump forming in her throat, Gaines turned away from the ad hoc funeral pyre and began leading her surviving Marines into the unknown.

* * *

**Battlestar _Pacifica  
_****Colonial Fleet Reserve Depot Orbital Annex  
****Sagittaron Colony  
**

"Think good thoughts," muttered Adrian Kelso as he leaned in over the plot table, his eyes intently locked on the DRADIS overhead.

With baited breath, everyone in CIC watched as the DRADIS feed from the loitering Raptors showed a pair of Raiders race in along the long lines of decommissioned warships.

"They know something's up," sighed Ensign Jinara Cole as she too stood watching the DRADIS intently. "They wouldn't be making another pass unless they suspected _something_."

Even though he didn't say as much, Adrian Kelso was thinking very much the same thing himself.

The ground assault on the depot had left little doubt the Cylons not only had dominating control over the system and surface, but had likely also begun to take note of their efforts.

Exactly how much they knew was still a matter of debate; the Raiders might have detected the activity around the decoms, or, they might have been just trying to provoke a response.

Either way, Kelso realized that time had run out; they needed to get underway.

At his side, the handset buzzed for his attention.

"Mike, I need some good news, old friend," muttered Kelso as he lifted the handset to his ear.

"_Good news is we're still alive_," replied Franklin flatly. "_Bad news is, we spin these FTL cores up with those Raiders lurking about out there, they'll be able to detect the power signature and be on us long before we can jump_."

"Commander, I've got an update from Director Bess," called Aria Capshaw from the Comm station. "Evacuation is complete, all ships ready to get underway."

"_Not quite all_," muttered Kelso wryly as he watched the Raiders continue to stalk along the rows of obsolete warships.

Then, as quickly as they'd come, the two Raiders jumped away.

Kelso's heart jumped.

"Get on the horn to Bess," snapped Kelso as he looked back over at Capshaw. "Time for us to get the hell out of here, now."

Nodding her head, Capshaw pressed her headset a little tighter to her ear and sent out the message.

On DRADIS, Kelso watched as several ships, fourteen civilian freighters and liners, the former Combatstar _Proteus_, the old Assaultstars _Limnos_ and _Kilkis_, and his own _Pacifica_'s sister Battlestar _Asterica_, began to break away from their moorings.

"Mike, how quickly can you get the FTL drives spun up?" asked Kelso flatly as he watched the first civilian ships begin to jump away, presumably to the prearranged coordinates.

"_Ten minutes at best, Commander_," replied Franklin flatly. "_I'm running diagnostics at the same time I'm bringing the cores online; it's slowing the process down_."

"Do you _need_ the diagnostics?"

"_Yes_," replied Franklin flatly. "_One short wire could overload the entire system; I didn't just get done putting this ship back together just to have the Cylons rip her apart because someone put a fuse in backwards_."

Kelso knew it wasn't as simple as Franklin letting on; true to his word, Shipman had managed to reroute the evacuation transport bearing Franklin's wife and two daughters up to the _Pacifica_. With not only his beloved spouse and two children, but also his two grandsons and an unborn grandchild on the line, Franklin had more reasons than most to ensure that everything worked without a hitch.

"Then I suppose I'd better shut up and let you get back to work," replied Kelso evenly.

"_Yes, sir_," agreed Franklin a split second before he hung up his end of the line.

Putting the handset back in its place on the side of the plot table, Kelso looked up at DRADIS in time to see the former Battlestar _Asterica_ jump away.

Now all that remained in orbit was the _Pacifica_ and two Raptors providing the DRADIS picture.

Emerging from nowhere, a pair of Raiders raced in, quickly joined a moment later by another pair, then four more pairs, a dozen pairs, two-dozen pairs.

The blood draining from his face, his skin going cold, Adrian Kelso watched as the Raiders swept in along the rows of decommissioned derelicts and unleashed a withering barrage that began to tear into the unmanned hulks.

"Commander!" burst Ensign Cole.

"I see it, Ensign," replied Kelso, his voice carrying a calm he didn't quite feel inside.

Continuing in along the rows of the derelicts, the Cylons continued to fire missiles, breaking the ships in half, sending them hurtling into still more derelicts in cataclysmic explosions.

Systematically, efficiently, the Cylons were wiping out the mothball fleet.

"Order the Raptors to jump away," snapped Kelso as he glanced over at Capshaw.

His eyes returning to the DRADIS in time to see the Raiders wipe out several more empty hulks, Kelso heard as Capshaw sent out the message to the two Raptors.

'_No need for them to die as well_', thought Kelso bitterly.

One Raptor jumped away, but the other, Raptor Three-One-One, piloted Lieutenant Lee and Lieutenant Cooper, did not.

As Kelso stood there, the former Commander watched as the lone Raptor instead emerged from hiding and charged headlong towards the vast formation of Raiders.

With their throttles seemingly full open, the Raptor boldly streaked in perpendicular to the Raider advance, their course little more than a challenge for the Cylon craft to give chase, a challenge that instantly prompted several of the enemy fighters to break from their bombardment.

In open space, Raiders had a significant edge in speed over the much slower Raptor. But within the confined and relatively cluttered spaces between the long rows of decommissioned warships, that advantage was negated; in there it was all about maneuverability.

Kelso watched as the Raptor, death quite literally nipping at their heels, began weaving its way through the remaining derelicts, popping off ECM decoys to confuse a barrage of missiles launched off in their direction by the pursuing Raiders.

Maneuvering their Raptor with a surprising dexterity that would have put many a Viper pilot to shame, the lone craft continued to evade, confuse and draw the Raiders away from the _Pacifica_.

Watching the deadly dance, Kelso, quite literally dumbstruck by the audacity of the two young men, nevertheless knew he could do nothing to help them; all he could was pray silently as another barrage of missile streaked in towards the Raptor, converging at a single point just as the Raptor's icon disappeared, along with the DRADIS picture itself.

Kelso's shoulders drooped a bit, certain that the Raptor crew had perished…

…Only to see the DRADIS picture return a moment later as the Raptor amazingly reappeared a short distance away on the other side of the mothball fleet.

As the initial group of Raiders which had given chase came about to reengage the tenacious Raptor crew, the other Raiders which had not taken the bait, now much closer to the stubborn target, turned away from their continued strafing run to likewise give chase.

Again turning away from their pursuers, the Raptor began another series of acrobatic evasive turns that sent a pursuing missile hurtling into a derelict, the old hull shattering as the surprisingly nimble ship continued to lead the enemy away from the _Pacifica_.

So fully was his attention on the bedazzling display of acrobatics unfolding on the screen overhead that when the handset beside him buzzed for his attention, Kelso was actually a bit startled. As the Raptor pulled another tight turn around an old line of decommissioned destroyers, Kelso snatched up the handset and lifted it to his ear.

"_Now or never, Commander_," barked Franklin simply.

"What about the diagnostics?"

"_Frak'em, either it works or it doesn't, either way, we don't have time_," snapped Franklin. "_Spinning up FTL drives one and two_."

Without another word, Kelso slammed the handset back down and looked over at his former Tactical Operations Officer, Theo Cullen.

"Let's get out of here, Mr. Cullen," shouted Kelso as he returned his attention to the overhead DRADIS in time to see the Raptor pull another near miraculous turn between two shattered sections of an old warship.

"Aye, sir," burst Cullen.

As he inserted the jump key, liberated from its dusty display case down in the museum exhibit, into the FTL panel, Cullen gave it a quarter turn, his expression clearly hesitant over whether or not it would work. Blessedly, as the key locked into place, several counters appeared on several screens around CIC and began rapidly counting down.

"Clock is running, Commander," sighed Cullen, clearly relieved. "Initiating FTL jump in five, four..."

Looking across the plot table at Ensign Cole, Adrian Kelso found himself looking into her hauntingly familiar eyes as he heard the audible hum of the massive FTL cores winding up for the jump.

"I've always hated this part," muttered Kelso with a wry smile.

"…three, two, one, jump!"

Casting his eyes back up at DRADIS, Kelso felt his perceptions skew as the _Pacifica_ performed its first FTL jump in nearly forty years.

In an instant, the sensation then fell away.

Blinking his eyes against the slight queasiness he felt, it having been nearly as long since he'd been through an FTL as it had been for the _Pacifica_, Kelso looked up at DRADIS, and was surprised to see nothing.

"Damn, bring our DRADIS back online," winced Kelso when he remembered that the ship's own array had been shut down.

With yet another low whine of electrical systems coming online, the overhead screen quickly resolved into a picture of the space surrounding the old Battlestar.

As he watched the system complete its restart sequence, Kelso readily saw that Sagittaron was no longer below them, that the long rows of derelicts were gone, and thankfully, that the formation of deadly Raiders was nowhere to be seen.

The only things now within detection range of the _Pacifica_ were the civilian liners, freighters, and other former Colonial warships that had made good their escape from Sagittaron, all of them now sailing serenely in open space.

But what about the Raptor?

For several tense moments Kelso eyed DRADIS with baited breath, eager for a sign that the Raptor crew had likewise managed to escape. As the seconds continued to tick away, Kelso felt his heart begin to sink, a foreboding sense of certainty taking hold that the Raptor crew, in spite of their truly audacious and epic efforts to divert the Raiders away from _Pacifica_ in order to allow her escape, had perished as a result of their bravery.

Taking a deep breath, Kelso lowered his head, the first whispers of a prayer crossing his lips…

Suddenly, a new contact jumped into range on DRADIS.

His attention snapping back to the overhead screen, Adrian Kelso watched as the system performed a quick IFF check.

The newly arrived contact had a Colonial transponder, tag designation, Raptor Three-One-One.

Letting out a long sigh of relief, Kelso leaned back in over the plot table, gently shaking his head as a wide grin began to crease his lips.

"Capshaw, get me Raptor Three-One-One on wireless," muttered Kelso as he picked up the handset, the device feeling like a leaden brick in his hand.

"You're on, Commander," replied Capshaw a moment later.

"This is Kelso; I and a lot of other people over here owe you two gentlemen a case of ambrosia."

"_Right about now I'd settle for a warm shower and a clean pair of shorts, Commander_," replied the raspy voice of Raptor Three-One-One's pilot, Lieutenant Cooper.

"We'll see what we can do," chuckled Kelso as he watched the Raptor move back into formation around the small refugee fleet. "In any event, you gentlemen have my sincerest thanks; we couldn't have gotten away without your help."

"_All part of the service, sir_," replied Cooper evenly.

Chuckling slightly, Kelso hung the handset back up and looked across the plot table at the visibly relieved Ensign Cole.

"Looks like we made it, Commander," she said simply.

Kelso took in a deep breath.

"Now we just…" he began.

"Contact!" snapped Theo Cullen.

His grin disappearing just as quickly as it had come, Kelso's eyes darted back up to DRADIS.

Sure enough, at extreme range, DRADIS showed not one, but several new contacts coming into view.

"Director Bess is on the line for you, sir," called Capshaw.

Again yanking up the handset, Kelso lifted it to his ear, his eyes never leaving the 'unknown' icons moving into view.

"_This is Bess, what do you make of it_?"

Watching the signature returns, Kelso saw that whatever they were, they were big, much bigger than Raiders.

"Could be Baseships," offered Kelso evenly as he watched the new contacts on the screen. "And if they are, it means we could be in deep trouble."

Deep trouble indeed.

Even if Kelso or Bess' people, as out of practice as they were, _were_ able to muddle through plotting another FTL jump so quickly, the older generation FTL cores aboard the decoms, _Pacifica_ included, would need at least twenty minutes to recharge, more than enough time for the Cylons to begin ripping into them.

"_We transferred some older Vipers up to _Proteus," continued Bess as the distant contacts continued to grow closer. "_They're not state-of-the-art, a mixed bag of Mark Sixes and Mark Twos, and just enough rusty pilots to man them, but it's better than nothing_."

"Considering how poorly the 'state-of-the-art' has been faring thus far, it might be better," replied Kelso flatly as his eyes remained locked on DRADIS. "In any case we'd better get ready to defend ourselves and get another jump plotted while we wait for the cores to recharge."

With that, Kelso looked over and nodded over at Theo Cullen.

For his part, Cullen let out a long sigh as he pulled out the few charts they been fortunate enough to receive from Bess and his people back at the depot. Rolling the chart out over the larger plot table near the Operations console, Cullen began to mull over the calculations.

"Let's send one of the Raptors to recon ahead, try and get a better handle on what we're dealing with," continued Kelso as he looked back up at DRADIS.

"_I agree_," stated Bess evenly. "_I've ordered Major Tyle to push_ Proteus_ out ahead of the formation and also for the liners and freighters to pull to the rear just in case it does become a firefight_."

"Let's just pray it doesn't come down to that," sighed Kelso as he looked up at the unknown contacts. "Capshaw, raise me Raptor Three-One-One on this same wireless frequency."

"_This is Raptor Three-One-One, go ahead_ Pacifica," broke in Lieutenant Cooper a moment later.

"As much as I hate to do this to you, I need you gentlemen to push ahead and scout those new contacts," said Kelso evenly.

"_Close to visual and try to get a firm ID_," interjected Bess over wireless. "_No heroics, just get us a better idea what we're dealing with_."

"_Understood_," sighed Lieutenant Cooper, tired but resolute. "_We'll get the job done, sir_."

With that, the wireless line closed as Kelso watched Raptor Three-One-One break formation and streak off towards the unknown contacts.

For a moment, Adrian Kelso mused over how only a few hours ago, Lieutenant Cooper and his ECO, Lieutenant Lee might just as well have attempted to have Kelso committed for the insane idea of getting the old Battlestar _Pacifica_ underway when the attack began. Now fully invested themselves in protecting the cluster of refugee ships, the two young officers were giving Kelso the greatest sign of respect they possibly could; they'd simply accepted him as _their_ Commander.

As the seconds ticked away, Adrian Kelso began to drum his fingers on the plot table, the handset held expectantly at his ear as he waited for Lieutenant Cooper to report back in.

Surprisingly, unnervingly, if the contacts were Cylon, they had yet to give any notice to the ad hoc refugee fleet.

No Raiders were being launched, no course changes were being made.

They just continued to loiter at extreme range, motionless and foreboding.

All the while, Adrian Kelso continued to drum his fingers.

"_Raptor Three-One-One to _Pacifica."

"This is _Pacifica_-Actual, go ahead Raptor Three-One-One"

Kelso took a deep breath, tension gripping his body.

"_We have closed to visual with the contacts, sir_," began Lieutenant Cooper. "_Be advised, looks like we have friendlies here_."

At that, the tension fell away as a few of his old crew let out sighs of relief.

"_Are you certain, Raptor Three-One-One_?" asked Bess flatly over the channel.

"_Affirmative, sir_," replied Lieutenant Cooper. "_They've taken heavy damage, all ships appear to be powerless and adrift, but they are definitely Colonial military_."

"Can you ID them?" asked Kelso as he continued to tap his fingers lightly.

"_The escorts have sustained too much damage, looks like they've completely broken up, probability of survivors is doubtful_," continued Lieutenant Cooper evenly. "_However, I do have one ship, a Battlestar, she still appears mostly intact, there could be survivors aboard her_."

"Copy that, Raptor Three-One-One," sighed Kelso as he watched the Raptor continue its pass near the contacts.

For a moment, Kelso simply stood chewing lightly on the inside of his lip.

"_Well_, Pacifica_, what do you think_?" asked Bess evenly over the wireless.

"I don't know about you, but I'm for taking a look," stated Kelso as he eyed the contacts.

"_So am I_," replied Bess flatly. "_Enough good people have died today; I don't much like the idea of abandoning more if I don't have to_."

"Neither do I," agreed Kelso. "Let's see if there's anyone we can help out over there."

* * *

**Battlecruiser _Enceladus  
_****Near Emergency Fleet Rally Point 731NE  
**

Colonel Thadius Runel awoke with a start.

Disoriented, he barely noticed when the stack of reports and printouts he'd fallen asleep reading fell from his lap onto the deck.

As he fumbled to collect back up the reports, another series of knocks against the hatch echoed out through Runel's quarters.

Rubbing his eyes, Runel looked over at the clock on the wall, then redundantly at his watch.

How long had he dozed off?

"Colonel, sir?" called the voice of the Marine posted outside his door.

"Yes, what it is, Corporal?" called Runel as he straightened up in his chair, reaching down to gather the spilled papers back together.

"You have a visitor, Colonel."

Letting out a sigh, Runel rubbed his eyes again, put the somewhat disorderly stack down on his footrest and stepped over to the hatch.

With a dull thud, Runel opened the hatch and found himself face-to-face with Colonel Brianna Webber.

Letting out a sigh, he reluctantly motioned her inside.

Stretching his back, Runel let out a yawn as Colonel Webber closed the hatch once more.

"That might give the Marine outside the wrong idea," he muttered as her heard Webber engage the lock on the hatch.

"In your dreams," replied Webber derisively.

"Not quite," quipped Runel as rubbing his eyes with one hand he reached out with the other and picked up his uniform tunic. "If I remember right, I was just dreaming about a couple co-eds I met once near Pailyn Beach."

"_Definitely_ just in your dreams," scowled Webber as she stepped over and picked up the errant stack of reports.

"As fun as this is, did you really come over here just to insult me?" sighed Runel as he slid his arms into the sleeves of his uniform tunic. "Because you can do that just as effectively over the wireless, you know."

"You probably would have just hung up the line," replied Webber flatly.

As she leaned over and began to fiddle with the stack of reports, Runel began to pick up on her hesitancy, an undercurrent of expectation in her body language.

"Spit it out, Brianna," said Runel flatly as he began fastening the buttons on the tunic.

"I was just wondering what it was you planned to do next?"

"Again, something you could have asked over the wireless."

Webber paused, set the stack down and turned back to Runel.

"Will you cut the by-the-book crap for just one moment," sighed Webber as she turned back to Runel. "I'm here to find out just what is going on inside that thick skull of yours."

"I intend to continue the fight," replied Runel flatly as he fastened the last button, reaching down a moment later to give the tunic a slight tug.

"How exactly? By continuing to jump from one empty rally point to another?"

"Are you questioning my orders, Colonel?"

"More to the point, I'm questioning your lack of orders," snapped Webber as she stood glaring at him across the room, arms folded across her chest. "Chain of command says _you_ command this task force, fine. But _command_ it. What are we doing just floating about in the middle of nowhere?"

"I hardly need a lecture from you right now, Brianna," sighed Runel, holding his hand up towards her as he began making his way over to the sink in his private head. "From the moment we set out for Armistice station, this ship has been jumping from one battering encounter with the enemy to another. We need time."

"Time for what, exactly?"

Putting his hands beneath the running water, Runel wrung them together for a few seconds, then splashed a bit of water on his face before reaching for a towel. Quickly drying his face and hands, Runel lightly tossed the towel down onto the edge of the sink as he again looked at himself in the mirror, his gaze inevitably settling on the now-disheveled looking bandage wrapped around his head.

"To take a breath, to assess the situation without a fraking Basestar launching volley after volley at us," replied Runel, his tone clearly frustrated as he reached up and began slowly unwrapping the gauze. "I've got an overworked crew hustling like hell to repair a list of damage twice as long as my arm. Moreover, I have about half-again a boat load's worth of displaced crewmembers from _Republica_ sitting on their hands in the corridors because I don't have a place for them to bunk down."

With the bandage now unwrapped, Runel cautiously pulled it free, wary of tearing open the scab and dried blood surrounding the stitches. Content that the wound was still closed, Runel reached over, picked up a towel, dampened it under the sink, and carefully dabbed some of the dried blood away, attempting to make it more-or-less presentable.

"Right now, Colonel Webber, my priority is to patch up our damage, tend to our wounded, and with a little luck find a way to link back up with the Battlestar _Galactica_," stated Runel flatly as he tossed the bloodied towel over onto his bunk. "But if we are not able to locate them, we will continue to fight the Cylons, fight them effectively but not suicidally."

"A textbook answer ripped right from the pages of the Colonial Officer's manual," sneered Webber.

"What is it you expect right now, Colonel?" snapped Runel as he stepped back out into the main area of his quarters.

"Well since you consider yourself such a scholar of military history, I'd _expect_ you'd understand this is _not_ the kind of situation _covered_ by the manual," burst Webber, her tone almost exasperated.

Reaching down, Runel picked up some of the papers and made an abortive attempt to put them back in order.

"No, this is _exactly_ the kind of situation covered by the most fundamental imperative laid out in the manual," countered Runel as he finally tossed the papers down the pile in frustration and then looked directly over at Webber as she stood, arms crossed, fuming silently. "In the absence of orders, a commander is to do anything and everything to ensure that their ship and their crew _survive_; stay in the fight, win the war."

"I don't know why I'm the one who has to point this out to you, Thadius, but the war is _over_," scoffed Webber. "We've _lost_."

"We have _not_ lost," snapped Runel angrily.

Unfazed by the tone of his voice, Webber motioned her head over at the stack of paperwork Runel had been tending too.

"If there are even _half_ the number of wireless reports in that stack as I've received over on the _Savitri_ then you know that's a lie," stated Webber flatly. "Every last population center has been hit by MIRVed warheads, _leveled_; before we lost communications entirely, over three-fourths of the fleet was reported as having been pummeled into debris..."

"I'm well aware of the strategic situation, Colonel Webber," stated Runel coldly. "I don't need you to catalogue our losses for me."

For a moment, the two of them stood glaring at one another across the sparse quarters.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Runel softened his expression a bit as he took a tentative step towards Webber.

"The _war_ may be over, Colonel Webber," continued Runel a moment later, a distinct edge creeping into his voice. "But as long as this ship exists, this _fight_ is just beginning."

* * *

**Scimitar One-Zero-Five  
****Exact location unknown  
****Approximately One Light-Day from Caprica  
**

"What about plotting a jump back to Sagittaron?" asked Lieutenant Samantha Larson as she continued to visually scan the endless stretches of space outside the canopy.

"I still haven't been able to get a firm stellar fix, Sam," replied Lieutenant John Becker through half a mouthful of emergency rations. "FTL one-oh-one, you _can't_ plot a jump without _both_ a starting point _and_ an end point."

"Guess I should just thank the gods you didn't jump us right into the middle of a sun," replied Larson wryly, rolling her eyes.

"How many fraking times do I have to tell you; it wasn't my fault," groaned Becker, as much because of the poor taste of the emergency rations as from Larson's sarcasm. "We must have taken a hit from ground fire, maybe some shrapnel, something, but it knocked out the main nav computer. We're lucky we were able to jump at all, considering."

"_Considering_ we'd be nothing but a flattened mass of smoldering debris on the surface of Sagittaron if we hadn't," amended Larson a moment later, remembering how she had intentionally induced the Scimitar into a backwards freefall just before the jump.

Letting out a long sigh, Larson continued to look out at the foreboding expanse of nothingness beyond her canopy.

In truth, there was little for her to do at the moment; they'd powered down the Scimitar's systems some time ago to conserve fuel and power. Save for DRADIS, nothing aboard the gunship was operating.

Still, she continued to sit in the pilot's seat, her hand resting reflexively around the control stick; at a moment like this, even the illusion of control was comforting.

"On the bright side, we've apparently jumped so far out that the wireless traffic we're picking up was sent before the attack even began," stated Becker as he finished off the packet of rations. "To listen to it, you'd never know the Cylons had struck."

"Where's the bright side in that?" countered Larson flatly. "We _know_ the attack happened; it'll just be insult to injury to have to listen to all that crap start all over again when the wireless transmissions _do_ reach us."

"You're such a pessimist," muttered Becker as he took a swig of water.

"A _realist_, thank you very much," retorted Larson. "Besides which, you spoke too soon."

"Come again?"

"The wireless," continued Larson as she held up the small wireless set in her free hand. "The first messages about the attack are finally catching back up with us."

"You mean the Cylons are attacking the Colonies?" quipped Becker in mock surprise. "My gods, we need to get back there right away!"

"Very fraking funny, Becker," muttered Larson as she half-listened to the broadcasts, the information now a day out of date. "Just do me the favor of keeping that morbid sense of humor to yourself when our oxygen starts to run out or we freeze to death, ok?"

"I don't imagine I'll have much to say in either case," replied Becker grimly

In spite of herself, Larson grinned slightly at that.

"Well, at least if we're picking up the transmissions, we now know how far out we are," muttered Becker. "One light-day, give or take; too bad the nav is out, I might have been able to triangulate..."

Just then, a contact appeared on DRADIS at extreme range, cutting Becker off before he could complete his statement.

With a new dump of adrenaline flooding into her system, Larson reflexively gripped the controls a little tighter, her eyes suspiciously scanning the depths of space before her.


	5. Part 4 - Father, Son and the Ghost

**Warstar _Galactica  
_****Colonial Fleet Capital Vessel Proving Grounds  
****One Light-Day from Caprica  
**

Commander Sean Kelso, temporary CO of the newly completed Warstar _Galactica_, felt like a boulder had landed upon him.

"Is this confirmed?" muttered Kelso evenly as he continued to read, then re-read the short message.

"It was broadcast in the clear, Commander," replied Petty Officer Harris, her voice choking slightly.

Glancing over at the young woman, Kelso could see a hint of tears welling up at the corners of her eyes, her hands trembling.

"Steady, Harris," he whispered, reaching over and taking hold of her shoulder as he looked back down at the message.

But even as he tried to console Harris, as he scanned through the text one more time, Kelso could barely repress his own lingering numbness and shock.

"_Attention all Colonial units; Cylon attack underway; this is no drill_."

Bitterly, Kelso then noted the simple time index at the end of the message.

The message was over a day old.

One day.

Silently, Kelso reached out and let the message fall gently down upon the surface of the plot table.

"Keep monitoring as many wireless channels as possible, Harris, military and civilian, and keep me updated," said Kelso simply as he reached up and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Aye, sir."

As the young woman stepped back towards the Communications station, Kelso looked up in time to see his temporary XO, Major Tyra Burke, as she stepped into CIC. Apparently having been awoken by Kelso's summons to CIC, Burke was hurriedly adjusting and straightening her uniform as she made her way towards the plot table.

"You asked to see me, Commander?" asked Burke, sliding her thin rimmed glasses into place as she stepped up.

Without a word, Kelso reached out and slid the simple printout towards Burke, who reached over somewhat quizzically and picked up the communiqué.

As she looked down at the sheet and began to read, Kelso noted the none-too-subtle change in her expression as she finished the message and looked back up at him.

"This message is over a day old," he muttered evenly. "And we've only _just now_ received it."

Shaking his head slightly, Kelso bit down on the harsh irony.

Although they'd harnessed the technology to move massive warships instantly from one point in space to another, were capable of traversing dozens of light-years in the blink of an eye, the Colonies still _relied_ on communications technology that plodded along at 'mere' light speed.

"So what are our orders, sir?" asked Burke evenly as she put the communiqué back down on the plot table.

"We haven't received any, not yet anyways," replied Kelso simply.

Taking a deep breath, he looked up at the blank DRADIS screen overhead and mulled over the question.

Perhaps a more important question to ask was what were they in a position to actually do?

The new _Galactica_, built to replace the retiring Battlestar _Galactica_, was by every measure one of the most advanced and powerful warships ever constructed by the Twelve Colonies. At least, she would be once she was _fully_ commissioned and operationally manned several months from now.

But since this was an engineering shakedown cruise, a trial run designed to test the ship's systems to ensure that they were operating as designed, she was far from ready. While he had at his command a very talented crew, most of them the tops in their respective fields, there were only about four hundred total personnel currently aboard, barely ten percent of the ship's designed operational crew complement. The single squadron currently embarked for tests of the launch and recovery systems fell far short of the overwhelming military capacity she was designed to carry. And as for ammo for the ship's own defensive and offensive weaponry, there were only enough munitions currently aboard to test the weapons for accuracy against unmanned targets.

And yet Major Burke's question still hung over him.

What should they do?

What _could_ they do?

Taking a deep breath, Commander Sean Kelso looked back across to Major Burke.

"For now all we can do is wait, Major," he began evenly, himself not liking that answer much. "We're in no shape to enter into a combat situation."

"Shouldn't we at least try and contact Picon Fleet Headquarters?" countered Major Burke.

Commander Kelso scoffed slightly, the barest hint a grin creasing his lips.

"At this distance, it will take one day for our transmission to reach HQ, and one more day for any reply to reach us," stated Kelso evenly. "Considering our current status, it might not be such a good idea to give away our position with a wireless transmission without having a better picture of what exactly is taking place back in the Colonies."

"Understood, Commander," replied Burke evenly, clearly hesitating for a moment as though she had been about to say something more, but decided against it.

Kelso was actually surprised by Burke's unexpected restraint. He'd half expected the decidedly driven young woman to espouse a more aggressive response.

Absently, Kelso began to lightly drum his fingers on the plot table as he continued to mull the situation over.

"However," began Kelso as he again looked down at the communiqué lying on the plot table. "We can at least begin taking some steps to get this ship ready, just in case we have an opportunity to do something more proactive."

Taking a deep breath, Kelso reached down and picked up the handset and toggled the switch for overhead One-MC.

Holding it for a moment, he couldn't help but feel as though it were little more than a leaden brick in his hand.

This wasn't going to be easy…

"This is the Commander," began Sean Kelso evenly, hesitating as he glared down at the communiqué. "Moments ago, this ship received word that a Cylon attack against our home worlds is underway."

As he said as much, Kelso could practically feel the building collective tension of his CIC crew. It was one thing to read a message on paper, it was a whole other matter to actually hear someone confirm it verbally.

"Now, at our current distance from the Colonies, any information we receive via wireless is already a day old," continued Kelso, his fingers slowly sliding the communiqué back over to his side of the plot table. "Right now, all we know is that an attack has _begun_; we have no information on the enemy's disposition, strength or location."

"Now I know we don't have a full load of supplies, equipment or crew," sighed Kelso as he continued to look around to the handful of men and women around him. "Nevertheless, we need to concentrate on getting this ship ready, in case we have to defend ourselves, or in case we do get the call to join the fight."

Pausing Kelso looked out into the eyes of his CIC crew.

"I know many of you will be thinking about your families, your friends," continued Kelso as his own thoughts briefly settled on his father. "But I need you to put those things aside and concentrate on your assigned tasks for the sake of your fellow shipmates. Trust one another, support one another; I will provide you with more information as it becomes available. All hands pass the word to Major Macedo and Major Culver; report to CIC immediately."

Hanging the handset back in its place, Kelso looked over at his Tactical Operations Officer, Lieutenant Cortez.

"I need a plot overlay down here, Lieutenant," said Kelso as he motioned for Cortez to retrieve the requested chart. "Petty Officer Chapman, step over here as well."

As Lieutenant Cortez stepped up with the requested chart, the ship's helmsman, Petty Officer Chapman likewise stepped up to the plot table beside Kelso.

"This is the most up to date information we have on the fleet's current deployment and patrol locations, Commander," stated Lieutenant Cortez as he finished unrolling the chart.

"This is our current location," said Cortez as he pulled a grease pencil from his pocket and made a small circle near the region labeled Colonial Fleet Capital Vessel Proving Grounds, setting the pencil down as he looked over at the Commander.

Drumming his fingers lightly, Kelso looked over the chart, the myriad of lines and marks indicating the assigned patrol routes of various Battlestar Groups, the orbits, both regular and irregular, of celestial bodies and objects within the Colonies; everything they needed to navigate safely.

"Ok," sighed Kelso as he leaned in over the chart and picked up Cortez's grease pencil. "Let's go ahead and set a low velocity return course back to Scorpion Shipyards."

"How low a velocity, Commander?" asked Chapman evenly as he watched Kelso pick up a long plot ruler and lay it out across the chart.

"Standard cruise; point one-five-C," replied Kelso as he began making a series of lines along the chart. "We'll come in on a wide angle approach outside the prime patrol routes, avoid the outer Colonies."

"At standard cruise, it will take about seven days to reach Scorpia," noted Lieutenant Cortez as he looked over the course laid out by Kelso.

"Time enough to get a better idea of what exactly the Cylons are up and how the fleet is responding," replied Kelso evenly as he set the grease pencil back down. "As we move closer, the time-lag in the wireless messages will shrink; intel will become more reliable."

"What if it becomes necessary to execute an FTL jump, Commander?" asked Burke pointedly.

"That depends on the progress Major Macedo and his team have made with the CNP," replied Kelso as he looked up to see Macedo himself enter into CIC.

Following close on the computer programmer's heels was Major Thomas Culver, the ship's temporary CAG.

As Kelso watched the two newly arrived officers make their way towards the center plot table, Kelso turned back to Petty Officer Chapman.

"For now, go ahead and get us underway as planned at standard cruise," said Kelso evenly.

"Aye, sir," replied Chapman simply as he turned and headed back over to the Helm.

"Lieutenant Cortez, go ahead and start bringing the computers for the main batteries on-line," began Kelso, holding up his hand as Cortez opened his mouth to speak. "I realize we haven't had time to fully calibrate them as yet, but we need to start preparing for every contingency we can, even if the ship's systems aren't at one-hundred percent yet."

"Understood, Commander," replied Cortez as he turned and stepped back over to the Operations station.

Turning back, Kelso now found himself staring across the plot table at the expectant faces of not only Major Burke, but Major's Macedo and Culver as well.

"Okay, Major Macedo, what new information do you have on those anomalous algorithms keeping my FTL systems offline?"

For a moment, Major Macedo hesitated, looking around at the various crewmembers around CIC.

"Commander, it might be better if we discussed this in a more secure area," stated Macedo evenly as he leaned in over the plot table, clutching his ubiquitous binder a little tighter.

For a moment, Commander Sean Kelso stood staring across the plot table at the computer expert, taken aback as much as anything else.

Slowly, methodically, Kelso reached down, put his fingers on the communiqué regarding the Cylon attack, and slid it towards Macedo.

"Major, let me be clear with you," began Kelso evenly as his fingers slowly edged the communiqué even closer to Macedo. "Circumstances being what they are, a real live shooting war ripping its way through the Colonies, I would appreciate it if you would just come to the point, clearly but quickly."

Finally withdrawing his hand from the communiqué, Kelso left it sitting in front of Macedo, its presence acting almost like an indictment.

Macedo hesitated for one more moment, but glancing away from Kelso, he only found himself staring into the equally demanding gazes of the XO and CAG.

Finally, taking a deep breath, Macedo released his veritable death-grip on the binder in his hands, setting it down upon the plot table as he leaned in a little more.

"First off, Commander, Majors, what I am about to say _cannot_ be on the record," began Macedo, fumbling a bit as he opened the binder. "No logs entries, no scribbled notes, nothing. By even telling you this, I am opening myself up to possible prosecution under numerous Articles, possibly even the Federal Treason Acts. In fact, if you ever discuss openly what I am about to tell you, you yourselves will likewise be open to prosecution as I will be forced to deny that I was ever the source. I cannot overemphasize this point, Commander, Majors. Do you still want me to continue?"

Pausing, Macedo looked back across at Kelso, waiting for some sign of acknowledgment from the Commander. Although his interest was immediately piqued, Sean Kelso didn't appreciate the Major's continued evasiveness.

"Major, I really hate having a question of mine answered with another question," continued Kelso, his eyes locked intently with Macedo's. "Now, I am going to ask you again; what is the status of our FTL?"

Taking a deep breath, Macedo seemed to gather himself together as he continued to leaf through the pages in his binder.

"As you know, prior to this assignment I was posted to the Research and Development arm of the Ministry of Defense. While there, I was part of the team tasked with developing some of our most secure computer protocols, computer firewalls and network security measures for everything from Battlestar computer systems to the aeronautic interface systems on the latest Mark Seven Vipers."

Kelso nodded, this much he knew about Macedo from his service records; hardly a guarded military secret.

"Well, in order to test whether our security measures would be effective against the enemy, we had to have an effective way of testing them," continued Macedo, pausing, visibly hesitant and uncomfortable. "The best, most efficient way we came up with was to pit them against an actual, bonafide artificial intelligence system."

In an instant the expressions on the faces of all three senior officers turned to stunned silence and shock.

"A bonafide artificial intelligence system," echoed Kelso evenly. "You mean a Cylon?"

Again, visibly uncomfortable, Macedo simply nodded.

"Are you saying that the MOD has an actual, functional Cylon lurking about in the basement?" sputtered Major Burke.

Wincing, Macedo motioned for Burke to lower her voice, but quickly began shaking his head as well.

"Not _exactly_, Major," replied Macedo. "The Ministry does have an active Cylon computer matrix, however; a Cylon brain, for lack of a better way of describing it. It's isolated in a stand-alone setup, not hooked into or linked to any other system, not even the power grid, sustained by a dedicated generator it's used to test whether the security measures we create are effective."

"You're right, Major, you could be prosecuted for treason," stated Commander Kelso flatly. "It's against about a dozen Federal laws to operate _any_ form of artificial intelligence."

Coughing slightly, Macedo began to fidget slightly.

"I'm not telling you this to open myself to recriminations, Commander," replied Macedo evenly. "I'm telling you this because we may have a much _bigger_ problem on our hands than we first suspected, much bigger than simply having a Cylon in the basement, as Major Burke so eloquently put it."

"Out with it then, Major, before I have you dragged down to the brig," snapped Kelso curtly. "Or an airlock."

"The deeper I dug into the CNP, the more I looked at the hidden algorithms that were causing problems with our systems, the more I realized that they looked _familiar_," continued Macedo. "These algorithms have a great deal in common with adaptive heuristic algorithms utilized by Cylon A.I."

Kelso literally began to feel the blood drain from his face.

"Are you saying the Cylon A.I. used by the Ministry of Defense somehow managed to corrupt our Command Navigation Program?"

"No, sir, that's not possible, the Cylon A.I. matrix at the MOD is kept strictly quarantined," corrected Macedo, shaking his head slightly. "Even when a system or program is tested against it, that specific piece of hardware or software is routinely destroyed when the tests are complete explicitly to prevent the A.I. from having a way to propagate itself into other systems."

"Then how did these Cylon algorithms become part of the CNP?" asked Major Burke pointedly.

"There's only one possible explanation," began Macedo as he looked Commander Sean Kelso directly in the eye. "There's a Cylon conspirator _within_ the Ministry of Defense."

Upon hearing that, Commander Sean Kelso felt his skin go cold, as though every drop of blood had somehow been drained from his entire body, his heart rate utterly skyrocketing as a peculiar queasiness took hold over his stomach.

"I feel like I'm going to throw up," muttered Major Culver as he gulped in a deep breath.

"That's still not the worst of it," continued Macedo.

His head swimming, Commander Sean Kelso took long, slow breaths to try and quell the uneasiness gripping his body.

"What could possibly be worse than a conspirator at MOD intentionally compromising this ship's CNP systems?" asked Major Burke pointedly.

"A conspirator intentionally compromising the systems of the _entire fleet_," replied Macedo flatly. "Every Battlestar, Cruiser, Destroyer and Viper in the fleet operating the Command Navigation Program is at risk."

For a moment, that terrible statement hung over the quartet of officers.

For his part, Sean Kelso found his gaze settling back in upon the communiqué lying on the plot table.

A Cylon attack with the entire fleet vulnerable to having their computer systems hijacked.

The potential consequences were so staggering Kelso found himself recoiling in horror from the thought.

"Are you telling me that the _entire_ Colonial fleet is compromised?" asked Kelso pointedly.

"If a vessel operating the CNP keeps that one computer in stand alone, with no links whatsoever to either a wireless communications grid or a DRADIS feed, these algorithms will remain dormant," continued Macedo. "But the moment that CNP-equipped computer is linked into a network with any connection to any medium for sending or receiving a transmission, the algorithms could become active and begin learning at a near exponential rate how to bypass any security lockouts."

"And do what, exactly?" asked Major Culver.

"Best guess, it will commandeer those other systems, take over their functions," replied Macedo gravely. "Depending on which systems are accessed, the results could be catastrophic; it could shut down power systems, turn automated weapons grids against friendly ships, access to damage control systems would allow it to vent a ship's atmosphere into space, even commandeer helm functions and ram ships into one another; the potential damage is limited only by which systems the CNP is able to access through the network."

"Oh my gods," muttered Burke, her head drooping as she reached up and adjusted her glasses as she looked back across at Commander Kelso. "We need to warn Fleet Command, sir."

"First things first, Major Burke," began Kelso evenly, his gaze never leaving Major Macedo. "I want this entire fraking program root-canalled out of our systems right fraking now."

"I've already got my team pulling together a replacement program," replied Macedo, his own gaze likewise never leaving Kelso. "If we can get it to work, we should be able to make FTL jumps, range will be shorter though, and it's going to take time to patch it together."

"What about our other systems, Major?" asked Kelso evenly. "Is there _any_ possibility that other systems may have been compromised before we shut down our network?"

"Is it possible?" countered Macedo, remembering too late what Kelso had said about answering a question with another question, and thus quickly amended himself. "Yes, sir, our other systems may already be compromised."

"Then what do we do?" asked Major Culver.

"Complete wipe, every system, every hard drive," replied Macedo flatly. "If we format every system simultaneously and reboot with the protected archive copies in primary storage, we'll lose the calibration adjustments we've made, but it will also erase any compromised lines of code."

Taking a deep, frustrated breath, Kelso turned and began to slowly circle around the plot table as he considered the drastic measure. As he moved, Sean Kelso soon realized just how much the crew around CIC had been paying attention to the conversation, at least as close as could be without outright gawking. From the looks on their faces, the full implications of what Macedo had revealed had been no more lost upon them then it had on him.

A Cylon conspirator at the Ministry of Defense, the entire fleet vulnerable to any number of catastrophic computer malfunctions, just as a shooting war with the Cylons erupts throughout the Colonies.

"You said the Vipers we have aboard may be compromised as well?" asked Kelso as he continued on around the plot table.

"Yes, sir," answered Macedo. "Taking care of that problem could be a touch more problematic since the avionics are more tightly integrated. I'd have to take a closer look, but the fly-by-wire systems may need to be bypassed completely."

"Which we can't do, at least not with the limited resources we have on board right now," interjected Major Culver. "Fabrication wouldn't be an issue, there's plenty of machinery in the AIMD work spaces, but we don't have the raw resources to mill the hardware."

"Every problem in due time," said Kelso as he again leaned in over the plot table. "First we secure the ship's computer systems, then we work on the Viper issue."

"What about the Raptors?" asked Major Culver as he glanced over at Macedo. "The CNP hasn't been installed aboard any of the craft we currently have on board."

"Then they shouldn't be affected at all," replied Major Macedo flatly.

"The only trouble is they're not designed for fighter-style combat," interjected Major Burke.

"But a Raptor would be able to jump back and warn the fleet," countered Major Culver.

Digesting all that had been said, Commander Sean Kelso now found himself facing three expectant officers waiting for his decision.

Taking a deep breath, Kelso was beginning to feel the true weight and burden of command for the first time in his entire career.

Grimacing slightly, Kelso forced himself to refocus on the issue at hand.

"Triage," he muttered absently, immediately drawing a quizzical look from all three Majors. "We address the most serious and immediate problem first; we wipe this ship's computer systems and restore the software from the protected backups."

The first decision made, Kelso began to feel peculiarly invigorated; that strange sense that no matter how ineffectual overall it might be, even small steps were better than complete inaction.

"When that's complete, Major Culver, I want a Raptor ready to go," continued Kelso as he settled back in to place. "While we work on getting the FTL systems back into operation, they'll jump back to Picon Fleet Headquarters in order to advise Command that the CNP is compromised."

"Aye, sir."

"Major Macedo, I want you to have some data backing up your assessment ready to hand off to the Raptor crew for presentation to Command as well as your recommendation for quickly removing the threat to our forces."

"Understood, Commander."

As the two officers turned to depart CIC, the overhead DRADIS system let out an alarm.

"Contact!" snapped Lieutenant Cortez from Operations. "One DRADIS contact at extreme range, Commander."

"Signature indicates a small craft," muttered Major Burke as she stood looking up at DRADIS. "Raptor, maybe?"

"IFF?" snapped Kelso a moment later as he watched the small ship continue to close in.

"Checking now, Commander," replied Cortez instantly.

Burke was correct in that the small return signature indicated a small ship; it might be a Raptor.

But then again, it could just as easily be an unknown type of Cylon vessel as well.

For a few moments, the tension around CIC was palpable; everyone watching DRADIS intently as the icon at the edge of the screen continued to slowly move closer.

"IFF complete, Commander," called Lieutenant Cortez. "Transponder code indicates a friendly, sir."

As the icon's label changed to indicate that the craft was a Colonial unit, Kelso let out a low sigh of relief.

"Petty Officer Harris, get on the wireless and try and establish contact," stated Kelso as he watched the lone contact continue to close in.

"Understood."

"If it's a Raptor, it could be a courier," offered Major Burke as she too stood with arms folded watching the small icon. "Orders from Command, perhaps?"

"Maybe," replied Kelso, drumming his fingers slightly as he watched the overhead screen.

"I'm not so sure, sir," interjected Culver as he continued to peer up at the DRADIS screen. "Because that's _not_ a Raptor."

"DRADIS signature is right for a Raptor," observed Burke as she absently pointed up at the screen.

"Right size, maybe, but not the right transponder prefix," countered Culver flatly. "I think that's the code for a Scimitar, a Marine ground support gunship."

"What the hell would a Marine gunship be doing way out here on its own?" grimaced Burke.

"If we can raise them on wireless, maybe we'll find out why," replied Kelso as he looked over towards the Communications station. "Any luck raising them, Harris?"

"Not yet, Commander."

* * *

******Scimitar One-Zero-Five  
**

"Any luck raising them on wireless?" asked Lieutenant Samantha Larson as she carefully piloted the Scimitar towards the distant Colonial contact.

"No love here," replied her Weapons Officer, Lieutenant Becker flatly. "Looks like more than just our nav computer got hit, main comms are out too."

"Then here," burst Larson as she turned and tossed an emergency handheld wireless unit to Becker. "Try and raise them on this; I'm not too keen on being shot from the sky by a friendly."

"What friendly?" shot back Becker as he began adjusting the frequency dial on the wireless handset. "IFF shows a Colonial Military prefix, but I can't find her main ID code in our database."

"Are you saying it may be a Cylon ship?" asked Larson pointedly, decidedly spooked by the prospect.

"Let's hope not," replied Becker as he finished adjusting the wireless handset. "That's one big fraking DRADIS signature; if they ran us over it'd be like an insect on a windshield, and we'd be the insect."

Suddenly, the wireless set in Becker's hand let out a harsh squeal before resolving into a faint, yet decidedly human sounding voice.

"…_say again, this is the Colonial Wars…_ica_…identify yourself…diately_…"

Lifting the handset to his face, Becker literally bumped the wireless device against the closed visor of his flight helmet. Groaning a bit at his own foolishness, Becker quickly pulled his helmet off and again lifted up the handset.

"This is Colonial Scimitar One-Zero-Five, we read you…," began Becker, realizing quite abruptly that the portion of the other vessel's transmission in which they'd identified themselves had been garbled. "Uh, we read you Colonial warship, request _immediate_ clearance for landing."

While he waited for a response, he adjusted the handset a little more.

"_We read you Scimitar-One-Zero-Five_," replied the voice on the other side of the transmission, now decidedly much clearer. "_You are clear for approach on our portside landing bay, upper deck_."

"Must be a Battlestar," muttered Larson as she throttled the Scimitar up a bit to hasten their approach. "Go ahead and acknowledge the approach order."

"Scimitar One-Zero-Five to Colonial warship, we copy order to approach Port side upper deck," stated Becker.

For a moment, Becker sat holding the wireless handset, then glanced over at the DRADIS console.

"I still think that signature is a bit too big for a Battlestar," he muttered, chewing slightly on his lip. "Even a _Mercury_ class doesn't ping that large."

"If you're so curious why not just ask them to identify themselves again," offered Larson. "Might be nice to know where I'm about to land our wounded bird."

"Didn't want to look stupid, I guess," replied Becker weakly, wincing as he realized what he'd just said.

Glancing back over her shoulder once more, Larson couldn't help the sarcastic grin creeping onto her face.

"Don't even fraking say it, Sam," groaned Becker, sensing Larson's eyes upon him.

"Say what?"

"Two years as your back-seater, I know how you think," he continued.

"I suppose you think I've let you off the hook for getting us lost," countered Larson, still grinning as she turned back to her instrument panel.

"It'd be nice if you did, after all, isn't it for the gods alone to judge us?"

"The gods?" scoffed Larson as she continued to pilot the Scimitar. "And since when did you find religion?"

"Since we were about half a heartbeat from having two Raiders put some rounds right up our ass," replied Becker.

"Oh, a deathbed convert," shot back Larson, chuckling slightly.

"What deathbed, last time I checked I still had a pulse."

"Only because I haven't yet had time to strangle you for getting us lost in deep space," finished Larson.

"_Again_ with that," sighed Becker, resigning himself somewhat to the very real likelihood that he was _never_ going to live it down. "That's the problem with one track minds; they run in circles."

"Would you just go ahead and ask them to repeat their designation already," shot back Larson.

With a slight groan, Becker looked down at the handset, then lifted it back up.

"Scimitar One-Zero-Five to Colonial warship, be advised your first transmission was garbled, can you please give your identity again?" said Becker as he looked out past the canopy.

"_Be advised Scimitar One-Zero-Five, this is the Warstar _Galactica."

"_Galactica_?" muttered Larson quizzically.

"What the frak is a 'Warstar'?" muttered Becker.

"I guess we'll find out when we get there," countered Larson as she peered out into the darkness trying to visually pick up the warship. "DRADIS says we're getting close, but I can't see her."

"There, running lights dead ahead," muttered Becker as he stood up and stepped up beside Larson.

"Afraid I'm going to need a bit more than that to line up," sighed Larson as she squinted at the few flashing navigational lights. "What the hell kind of carrier runs with their flight-ops lighting out? Becker, get back on the wireless and ask them to switch their approach lights on."

"Scimitar One-Zero-Five to _Galactica_, we're having difficulty obtaining a good visual on you," began Becker evenly as he too tried to discern the outline of the warship. "We have your nav markers, but can you to activate your exterior lighting?"

"_Affirmative, Scimitar One-Zero-Five, standby_."

As the two Scimitar crewman continued to peer out into the murky expanse before them, searching for the warship in the nearly non-existent ambient light of deep space, they were slightly started when out of the darkness, the ship illuminated itself.

"Gods damn, she's _big_," muttered Larson as she looked out in near awe.

"There's the Port pod," said Becker, pointing out past the canopy.

"Thanks," mumbled Larson, rolling her eyes a bit as she slowly turned the Scimitar for approach. "_Never_ would have found it without your help."

"_Scimitar One-Zero-Five, this is _Galactica_, you are clear for final approach on pad five; speed one-zero-zero; call the ball_," cut in another voice over the wireless.

"Roger, we have the ball," replied Becker when Larson nodded her head.

Lining the Scimitar up with the landing indicator, Larson sailed the Scimitar ahead, gently settling her down over pad five. With a slight bump, the magnetized landing pads held the craft firmly to the lift, and it began to descend into the hangar deck level.

As Larson and Becker began securing the small crafts systems, a deck crew quickly moved the Scimitar off the lift into one of the hangar service bays.

"Looks like someone is waiting to talk to us," muttered Larson as she noted two Colonial officers in standard duty uniform making their way towards the Scimitar.

"No time like the present," replied Becker as he toggled the switch, opening the entry hatch.

Stepping out onto the winglet, Becker and Larson looked out into the rather cavernous hangar deck, taking particular note of the fact that the majority of the service bays were empty.

Glancing at one another, Becker shrugged as Larson turned and stepped down off the winglet.

Almost as soon as her boots hit the deck, the two waiting officers stepped up.

Snapping to attention, both Becker and Larson rendered a salute.

"Lieutenant Samantha Larson, request permission to come aboard, sir," she said as the officer bearing the insignia of a Commander stepped up to her.

"Granted, Lieutenant, at ease, both of you," replied the Commander casually as he gave the two Scimitar crewman a visual once-over before extending his hand towards them. "I'm Commander Sean Kelso, this is my CAG, Major Culver."

"It's good to be aboard, sir," said Larson as she took hold of the Commander's hand. "This is my Weapons Officer, Lieutenant John Becker."

"Not to be rude, but what the hell is a ground attack ship doing this far out in open space?" asked Commander Kelso flatly as he likewise took hold of Becker's hand, his expression clearly puzzled.

"Navigational error, sir," replied Becker evenly.

"Wouldn't have anything to do with those munitions hits, would it?" asked Major Culver he pointed over towards the aft end of their Scimitar.

As both of the Scimitar crewmen looked back over at their craft, they easily saw the neat line of holes, about half a dozen total, stitched along the side of the ship.

"Told you we got hit," muttered Becker as he glanced over at Larson.

Rolling her eyes slightly, Larson turned back to Commander Kelso and Major Culver.

"Don't suppose you'd care to enlighten us as to exactly _how_ you got hit?" continued Culver.

"Or perhaps more to the point, who it was that was shooting at you in the first place?" interjected Commander Kelso.

"Cylons, Commander," replied Larson flatly, pausing a moment to shake her head lightly. "With respect, it's been one-hell-of-a day."

* * *

******Serenity Valley  
****Sagittaron Colony  
**

"Okay, this isn't fun anymore," muttered Lance Corporal Chance Auric as he picked himself back up from the ground.

"And when exactly was this fun before?" muttered Lance Corporal Jasper Sims as he helped hoist Auric back to his feet.

"Would you two mother-frakers shut-up?" snapped Lance Corporal Pete Chaffey as he kneeled nearby, his eyes darting nervously about as he peered into the dense underbrush. "Tripping over stumps, gabbing it up like a couple schoolgirls, you're liable to tip our position to the entire fraking Cylon army."

"You're not exactly the king of stealth right now yourself, Chaffey," muttered Bowman as he stepped over to Auric and Sims.

"Aye, Corporal," muttered Chaffey somewhat derisively, his eyes still focused on the underbrush.

Ignoring the tone in Chaffey's voice, Bowman looked over Auric as the Marine stood swiping away the layer of leaves clinging to his gear.

"You okay, Auric?" asked Bowman.

"That would be an affirmative, Corporal Bowman," replied Auric, grinning slightly. "I'm humbled to know the mighty Corporal is concerned about the welfare of a lowly Lance Corporal such as myself."

"Knock it off," muttered Bowman, grinning slightly himself.

Even though he had now had several hours to absorb his literal battlefield promotion to Corporal by Captain Gaines, in truth he still found the idea somewhat strange.

"Been meaning to ask you about that," began Sims as he absently snatched the last leaf clinging to Auric and dropped it onto the ground. "How's it feel to be the man in charge?"

"I'll let you know when I get the first paycheck," replied Bowman flatly. "Now if you're done tripping over your own feet, I need you two to get back out there on point; the whole column took a knee when you went down, we need to get moving again."

"Copy that, Corporal," replied Auric with a grin as he stepped off towards the underbrush ahead.

As Auric and Sims began pushing ahead into the forest again, Chaffey stepped up beside Bowman.

"Those two are going to get us killed," he said.

"Shut your fraking mouth, Chaffey," snapped Bowman. "I'll worry about Auric and Sims, you worry about yourself; you're so fraking on edge, you're liable to rip off a few rounds if someone farts too loud."

Leaving Chaffey to fume, Bowman brought his rifle back up to the ready and followed behind Auric and Sims as the two Marines continued to push their way through the dense, untouched foliage.

It had been several hours now since they'd made their break into the forest beyond the depot perimeter. With the all-to-likely probability that the Cylons were following close on their heels, the staggered line of stunned troops spent all night pushing into Serenity Valley, trying to put some critical distance between themselves and the now-abandoned boneyard.

Looking up, Bowman could see the sun rising over the horizon, a few birds overhead beginning to chirp.

If they hadn't all just been in the midst of a fierce and costly firefight only a few kilometers back, Bowman guessed he might have been better able to appreciate the subtle beauty of the scene. As it was, he was more pleased with simply being able to put his night vision goggles away.

Useful as they were, Bowman found it disconcerting to see the world cast in the garish shades of green of NVG's for hours on end. That plus the distinct lack of depth perception always left his eyes sore.

Rubbing his aching eyes for a moment, Bowman let out a long yawn as he picked up his pace enough to catch back up with Auric and Sims.

"Slow up you two, I said we need to move, not sprint," muttered Bowman as he got to within a few feet of the point men. "Remember, there's about three hundred Marines gaggling behind you."

"Just trying to get as far away from those fraking Toasters as we can, Corporal," muttered Auric as he stepped over a fallen tree.

"Can't argue with that, just don't want you two wandering off," stated Bowman as he looked around. "This brush is getting thick; get too far ahead and turn left, we might not see you and go right instead, then you'll both be fraked."

"That would be _bad_," grunted Sims as he hopped over the fallen tree.

"Did you notice how those Toasters were different?" began Auric as he continued to push ahead. "From the ones in the museums I mean."

"Hard to miss," replied Sims. "Damn carbines were useless against them."

"Makes sense when you think about it," offered Bowman. "Our military hardware has improved over the years, why wouldn't theirs?"

"Hey, Bowman," began Sims, pausing a moment to glance back over his shoulder. "Sorry, I mean, _Corporal_ Bowman, _sir_, I was wondering something."

"What is it, Sims?" smiled Bowman.

"You know we have a couple civilian cops back in the column who didn't make it aboard the last transport, right?" asked Sims.

"Yeah, what about 'em?"

"Well before I got moved up here on point, I was chatting with one and he said something about this area being restricted. Do you know what that's about?"

"It's a protected memorial reserve," replied Bowman evenly.

"Memorial reserve?" muttered Auric. "What memorial, it's just a bunch of trees out here."

"Don't you know the history of your Corps, Marine?" barked Bowman lightly, doing his best mock impersonation of Drill Instructor. "This here is Serenity Valley, hallowed ground for those who've sworn their lives to gods, colony and Corps."

Auric and Sims chuckled slightly, if only because they'd known Bowman long enough to know he was being sarcastic.

"Seriously, what's the story?"

"The boneyard wasn't always the fleet's dumping ground for old junk," began Bowman. "During the war, it was a preposition base. Tanks, troops, ammo, you name it, that's where they stored it for operations all across Sagittaron."

"I'm waiting for the part where this becomes interesting," muttered Auric derisively.

"Near the end of the war, the Cylons launched a massive offensive, hit several Colonies all at once; Baseships, Raiders, ground forces, the works. The depot was one of their objectives. Toasters landed nearly two divisions up ahead in the Hera mountain range."

"Wait, I think I saw this in a movie," interjected Auric sardonically. "Real ultra-moto, the Marines rushing in where the gods feared to tread, right?"

"Not quite," replied Bowman flatly. "The Two-Hundred-and-First and Fifty-Seventh Overlander regiments were on deck in time to meet the assault, but they were outnumbered. Cylons pushed them all the way back down here into Serenity Valley."

"Let me guess, a 'last stand' right."

"Shut up, Auric, I want to hear this," countered Sims flatly.

"Anyways, the Two-Oh-One and Five-Seven dug in and waited for the Cylons to advance on their lines. For five weeks they held their ground, but it was bad. By then, only the Fifty-Seventh Overlanders had anybody left over the rank of Corporal, and he was just a Sergeant."

"Did they hold the line?"

"They must have, depot's still there, isn't it?" interjected Auric.

"Resupply was impossible after the Cylons set up some AA so command ordered the Marines out of Serenity Valley," sighed Bowman, swiping his hand at an insect buzzing near his ear. "But, their lines were too heavily invested, there was just no way to get them out, fighting was just too thick, grinding on another two weeks. By the time it was over, the Two-Hundred-and-First had suffered over ninety-eight percent casualties. The entire Fifty-Seventh regiment had only _two_ survivors."

"But they held?"

"Just long enough for the Armistice to be signed and ratified," finished Bowman. "The hundred or so Marines still alive watched as the Toasters just turned around, went back to their landing craft, and took off."

"Just like that the fighting stopped?"

"War was over; Toasters didn't give a damn, they just did the whole 'by your command' thing and walked away as if nothing had happened."

"That's fraked up," muttered Auric.

"Anyhow, the leaders of Sagittaron closed this area off after the war," finished Bowman. "Guess they wanted to give the souls of the men and women who died here a chance to rest in peace."

"Sagittarons are a superstitious lot," muttered Auric as he swiped his hand out at a lizard on a nearby tree, the small reptile scurrying out of sight within an instant. "How you know so much about it anyhow?"

"He knows because the Corporal is a long-gone lifer," grinned Sims. "He lives, eats and breaths the Corps."

"Hardly," countered Bowman, chuckling a bit. "Unlike you two uneducated dirt-eaters, I _can _read; all those hours on post, I wasn't out there painting my toe-nails."

As Sims and Auric chuckled as well, the trio stepped up and then quickly over a small ridge.

Almost as soon as they'd crested the peak, Bowman caught sight of a small glint up ahead.

In front of them, hidden amidst the dense undergrowth, a polished piece of metal glistened in the early morning sunlight.

"Down!" snapped Bowman a split instant after his brain registered what he'd seen.

Instantly, all three Marines dropped down onto the ground, Auric and Sims looking frantically about, apparently not having seen what Bowman had.

"This is Junkyard-One-One, I have a possible contact at my direct front," said Bowman as he toggled the switch for his wireless set.

"_This is Junkyard-Six, copy Junkyard-One-One, confirm and report_," came the voice of Captain Gaines over the wireless. "_All other units spread out, weapons outboard._"

Behind them, the long line of Marines dropped to the ground and up behind three trunks, weapons pointed out into the surrounding forest, wary eyes searching for movement.

Crawling forward on his belly until he was able to peer back up over the crest of the small ridge, Bowman searched the underbrush for the same glint of polished metal which had caught his eye, certain it had been more than just his imagination.

And there it was…

Hidden within the thick underbrush, the glint was unmistakable in the early morning light.

"This is Junkyard-One-One; I have one unknown metallic object in the brush approximately a fifty meters to my direct front," began Bowman, whispering into the wireless mic as he continued to weave his head back and forth, trying to get a better view without outright breaking from cover.

"_I need a better definition than 'unknown', Junkyard-One-One_," came the mildly annoyed voice of Captain Gaines. "_We have to get up this valley, the longer we stay put, the more likely the enemy will be able to catch back up to us. The last thing we need is to be held up because someone flying by overhead tossed a candy wrapper out a window_."

"Copy that, Junkyard-Six," sighed Bowman as he continued to try and get a better view.

Resigning himself somewhat to the reality that he'd never be able to get the vantage point he'd need to make a positive ID from the ridge, Bowman took a deep breath and looked back over at Sims and Auric, motioning for them to join him.

"What's up?" asked Auric as he quickly peeked up over the ridge.

"Okay, here's the deal," began Bowman as he pulled the bolt back on his rifle to verify that a round was in the chamber. "I'm going to make my way down there. You two stay here and cover me."

"Copy that," muttered Sims as he pointed his weapon out over the ridgeline.

"What do you want us to do if you come under fire?" asked Auric.

"That depends, what did you score on you last rifle qual?"

"Marksman," mumbled Auric sheepishly.

"Sims?"

"I scored Expert."

"Well then, Sims, _you_ cover me," sighed Bowman as he took one last look over the ridge. "Auric, _you_ just try to not shoot me in the ass."

As Sims chuckled slightly, Bowman crawled up over the ridge and began making his way down the gentle slope.

As he went, Bowman tried to keep his eyes on the grouping of bushes where he'd spotted the glint of metal. Pausing every couple of steps, Bowman tried to keep his breathing under control, very much cognizant that he might very well be crawling up on a concealed Cylon.

After what almost felt like an eternity, his heart pounding away in his chest, Bowman snuggled up behind the trunk of a tree, brought his rifle up to the ready, and slowly stood up, his weapon trained on the small cluster of bushes.

His eyes focused down along the iron sights of the rifle, Bowman watched as a gentle breeze caught the thick leaves, moving them just enough to get a clear view of the object…

And found himself looking directly into the eye slit of a Cylon Centurion…

Reflexively, Bowman pulled back on the trigger, the sound of a single round firing echoing out through the forest, followed a split second later by the hollow 'clink' of the round slamming through the chrome surface of the Cylon's head.

With the shot's report still echoing out through the far reaches of the valley, Bowman watched, surprised, as the Cylon head spun around, rapidly at first, from the impact of the round.

With the barrel of the rifle still aimed in on the bush, Bowman slowly nudged aside the branches surrounding the now-slowly spinning Cylon head and saw that instead of being attached to the chrome torso he'd expected, it was instead impaled upon a wooden stick stuck into the ground.

And it wasn't the only one.

At least half a dozen more likewise severed Cylon heads sat impaled upon sticks and branches behind the bushes. Cracked visor plates, bullet holes, flecks of corrosion marring the surfaces; one thing was apparent, they'd been there quite a while.

"_This is Junkyard-Six, give me a report_," called the voice of Captain Gaines over the wireless.

"This is Junkyard-One-One, uh, that's a negative situation here, Junkyard-Six," replied Bowman as he continued to sift around the bushes.

"_Then what did you engage, I heard a weapon fire_."

As he stood looking down at the collection of severed Centurion heads, Bowman half-smiled, gently tapping at one of the chrome skulls with the barrel of his rifle.

"Looks like someone's collection of old Centurion heads, Junkyard-Six," stated Bowman. "Been here a while, definitely deactivated, looks like the older models from the war."

"_Copy that, Junkyard-One-One_," replied Captain Gaines, sighing, either in frustration or relief, Bowman couldn't tell exactly which.

Hearing a slight rustling behind him, Bowman looked up to see Auric, Sims and Corporal Sera Lenore slowly making their way down the gentle slope, rifles at the ready.

As he was about to call out to them, Bowman watched as the faces of the three Marines went pale, all of them suddenly stopping midstride. His own half-grin beginning to fade, Bowman felt the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stand up, his skin growing cold and clammy as he realized he could see someone, _something_, moving just at the edge of his peripheral vision.

As he continued to watch Auric, Sims and Corporal Lenore, the three Marines began slowly raising their weapons towards whatever it was that had emerged from the surrounding forest; Bowman felt his heart racing, threatening to burst from his chest.

Taking deep, steadying breaths, Bowman slowly began to turn around…

And saw not the imposing Cylon Centurion he'd half expected, but instead a man…

From what few features Bowman could make out of his face from beneath the thick layer of camouflage face paint, an older man, in an older uniform, the type worn by Marines forty years ago during the Cylon War, indeed the type that would have been worn by the Marines who'd fought in this very valley. Even the rifle the man was carrying would have been made a fine museum piece from the war…

Except that this particular rifle wasn't in a glass enclosure but was instead aimed directly at his chest.

Almost as an afterthought, Bowman felt an even greater chill run through his body, a full body shiver as he realized that he recognized the figure standing there before him from nearly half a dozen dark nights out on lonely posts, the haunting figure who'd come and gone time and again with the twilight; the man standing before him was the Ghost.

"Don't fraking move," warned the Ghost, his voice harsh, raspy.

"Take it easy old timer," muttered Bowman as he began to take half a step back.

"I said _don't_ fraking move," restated the Ghost flatly as he slowly lowered his rifle and took another couple of steps towards Bowman. "Unless of course, you'd rather snap that trip wire and set off a charge large enough to turn everything from your knees up into jungle jelly."

Slowly looking down towards his feet, taking a few hesitant pauses to glance briefly back up at the Ghost, Bowman eventually saw that he did indeed have a thin length of wire running across his boot.

"Frak," groaned Bowman as he stood looking at the tripwire.

"_Junkyard-Six to Junkyard-One-One, what's the hold up; why haven't we started moving again_?"

"This is Junkyard-One-One, be advised," began Bowman as he stood looking down at the tripwire. "We have _another_ situation up here at this time."

"_How big of a situation_?"

Looking back up at the Ghost, Bowman watched as the tangible apparition stepped over towards the base of a nearby tree, pulled away a low-lying bush, and revealed the sizeable explosive charge attached to the trunk.

"About five pounds worth of G-Four explosive 'big', Junkyard-Six," replied Bowman, feeling his skin frost over with sweat as he watched the Ghost carefully slip the safety pin for the tripwire detonator back into place.

"Using a wireless is _not_ recommended right now," stated the Ghost evenly, his gravelly voice resonating a bit as he continued to reinsert the safety. "Static discharge might just set off the blasting cap."

Chewing on his lip slightly, because he knew damned well the Ghost was right, Bowman rather sheepishly lowered his hand back away from the wireless transmitter.

"Okay, you're safe," announced the Ghost a moment later, standing up straight as he turned and looked over at the highly expectant Bowman.

For a moment, neither Bowman nor the Ghost moved.

"You can take a step back from that tripwire now," stated the Ghost flatly. "Safeties are back in place."

"How do I know you're not lying?" half-chuckled Bowman as he looked back down at the tripwire resting taught against his foot.

"Well, for one, I'm still standing in front of the main charge, so if it goes, I'll die a split second before you do," began the Ghost as he took a couple tentative steps towards Bowman. "And second, I'm not about to waste any G-Four on anything that's not a Toaster."

Holding his breath, Bowman slowly moved his foot, releasing the tension on the wire. When his foot had fully pulled away from the wire, Bowman let out the breath, taking a couple more hesitant steps away as he looked over at the Ghost expectantly.

As he stood looking eye to eye with the old man, Bowman heard some more rustling up above on the ridge, and looking back over his shoulder, caught sight of Captain Gaines as she made her way down the slope to Auric, Sims and Lenore.

"What the frak is going on?" asked Gaines as she stepped up next to the three Marines, a split second before she caught sight of Bowman and the Ghost. "What's going on Bowman, who is this?"

Turning back to face the old man, Bowman let out a small chuckle.

"This, Captain, is the Ghost," he said rather nonchalantly as the old man slung his rifle up over his shoulder.

"The Ghost?" muttered Gaines. "Look Bowman, and whoever the hell you are, I don't have time for games; we've got to get this column moving again before too much more fallout starts raining down on us."

"With all due respect, Captain," began Bowman as he pointed over at the tree bearing the now-safe charge of G-Four. "The area appears to be booby trapped."

"Did you set that charge?" snapped Gaines as she took a few curt steps towards the Ghost. "If so, you're in a lot of trouble; this is a restricted area, no civilians are allowed to be out here."

"Then it's a good thing I'm not a civilian," replied the Ghost flatly as he leveled Gaines with a curious gaze. "Moreover, if this is a restricted area, just what are you and your men doing out here, Captain?"

"Not that I have to explain myself to you, but there's a war on," said Gaines angrily. "We may very well have Cylons following us right now."

"Then you'd better follow me, Captain," said the Ghost flatly as he turned and began pushing back into the underbrush. "Fall your people in behind me and I'll guide you in through the perimeter."

"What 'perimeter'," muttered Gaines, plainly flabbergasted. "Just who the hell are you?"

"Well who the hell are _you_?" countered the Ghost flatly as he glanced back over at the young officer.

"Captain Jordan Gaines, Sagittaron Depot Detachment, Colonial Marine Corps," she replied matter-of-factly.

"Good to meet you, Captain Gaines," replied the Ghost as he turned and extended a hand out towards Gaines. "I'm Corporal Kieran Marius, Two-Hundred-and First Regiment, Colonial Marine Corps."

* * *

******Battlestar _Pacifica  
_****Near Emergency Fleet Rally Point 625NW  
**

Adrian Kelso, former Colonial Fleet Commander stood watching the DRADIS feed coming in from the small flotilla of Raptors that had been deployed as pickets.

Although there was no longer any doubt that the Cylons knew about their existence, it seemed that for the moment they had made good on their escape from Sagittaron. What remained to be seen was just how much longer they would be able to evade their pursuers.

Beyond that, Adrian Kelso took some measure of satisfaction from the fact that in spite of possible pursuit, there had been no arguments raised over their current efforts to rescue as many people as possible from the shattered Colonial Fleet battlegroup they had stumbled upon.

Although the initial recon run made by Lieutenants Lee and Cooper aboard Raptor Three-One-One had indicated that the smaller escort vessels had been utterly destroyed, Kelso and Director Bess, himself aboard the decommissioned Battlestar _Asterica_, had been heartened when the Raptor crew reported relatively little damage to the Battlestar _Vanguard_.

Emphasis on 'relatively'…

Although the bulk of the vessel's midsections and both flight pods were intact, the rear engineering sections had been utterly destroyed, rendering the newer _Mercury_ Class vessel little more than a hulk. Nevertheless, once _Pacifica_ and _Asterica_ had maneuvered in alongside the warship it had taken little time to ascertain that there were indeed survivors still aboard her.

Moreover, it had been Bess who'd suggested that the accompanying Combatstar _Proteus_ likewise link up in order to transfer over as many supplies and munitions as they could access.

Whereas _Pacifica_ had been demilitarized during her conversion into a museum, and _Asterica_, _Limnos_ and _Kilkis_ had all been stripped of their combat systems when decommissioned, _Proteus_ had only just been removed from service and thus still had everything from her main armaments to her flight decks in operational condition when the ad hoc flotilla made its escape from Sagittaron. Until they managed to link up with more significant Colonial forces, or perhaps more accurately, _unless_ they linked up with more significant Colonial forces, the _Proteus_ would be serving as their tiny fleet's lone protector.

But for everything that had already gone from bad, to terrible, to horrific as the Cylons unleashed their apocalypse upon the Twelve Colonies, Kelso had to admit that at least on their level, the immediate things over which they had some measure of control, the gods were shining a great amount of favor upon them. They had ships on which to escape, good, knowledgeable people with which to man them, and now had at least some ability to defend themselves if the Cylons showed back up.

That is, if they managed to complete the evacuation of the shattered _Vanguard_ before the enemy returned.

"Somehow I doubt this is something they would have covered at the War College," muttered Kelso as he looked across the plot table at Ensign Jinara Cole.

"I don't think they would have either, sir," sighed Ensign Cole as she sifted through a small stack of hand-scribbled notes. "You'd have to be positively mad to think of a situation like this."

Kelso grinned.

For her part, Cole seemed to wince a bit when she realized what she'd said.

"I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean to imply you were crazy," she offered a moment later.

"Your grandmother might have disagreed with you," chuckled Kelso as he looked back up at DRADIS. "But, in case you have any linger doubts, let me just say this; there's an old saying in the service, if it's crazy but it works, then it's _not_ crazy."

Ensign Cole smiled and resumed her attempt to organize the notes before her.

"So what's the count thus far, XO?" asked Kelso, glancing over at Cole to gauge her reaction at his specifically referring to her as 'XO'.

Surprisingly, if she'd noticed, she hardly batted an eye.

"So far, between _Pacifica_, _Asterica_ and _Proteus_, we've managed to take on just over twelve-hundred survivors," replied Ensign Cole. "Ninety-two Mark Seven Vipers, twenty-three Raptors, and ten shuttles have also been cross-decked to the _Proteus_."

"Add those to the forty Mark Two's and Sixty Mark Six's that Bess' people shuttled up from the boneyard, that's a respectable air wing to contend with if the Cylons show up," noted Kelso evenly, lightly drumming his fingers on the table top as his eyes continued to scan the DRADIS.

"And the crew we've recovered goes a long way towards filling out some of the gaps in our personnel," offered Cole as she made a quick note on one of the pages. "We've also been able to salvage a good number of supplies; foodstuffs, medical equipment and other materiel."

"What about the ship's munitions?" asked Kelso evenly. "Has the _Proteus_' teams had any luck accessing the _Vanguard_'s main magazines?"

"Some," replied Cole, raising an eyebrow as she absently brushed an errant lock of hair away from her glasses. "Some of the survivors report the _Vanguard_'s CO ordered an ejection from the stern magazines when the engineering sections were damaged, but the forward magazines were still stocked."

"Good."

Kelso let out a long yawn, half wondering to himself when the last time he'd actually managed to get some sleep.

He couldn't remember.

Outlook wasn't so good for getting any in the near future either.

"Too much to do," he muttered weakly.

"Sir?"

"Just thinking out loud, Ensign" smiled Kelso as he looked across at the somewhat quizzical gaze of Ensign Cole.

Just then, the main hatch to CIC opened and his former, well at this point, his once-again current Operations Officer Theo Cullen stepped in carrying a small duffle bag.

As he looked over at his former CIC officer, Kelso was bemused to see that Cullen had actually changed his clothes, trading out his former civilian garb for a set of simple olive drab fatigues.

Stepping up to the plot table, Cullen smiled a bit as he noted the attention his former Commander was paying to his change in attire.

"Got an extra set from one of _Vanguard_'s quartermaster stores," muttered Cullen as he absently smoothed the front of the uniform blouse.

"Just be sure to get those 'boots' polished up when you have the chance," chuckled Kelso as he noted that Cullen was still wearing his more comfortable civilian footwear.

As he reached up and set the duffle bag he was toting onto the surface of the plot table, Cullen also chuckled for a moment.

"Has there been any luck gaining access to _Vanguard_'s CIC?" asked Kelso as the moment of levity faded. "Did any of her command staff survive?"

Pausing, Cullen began to gently shake his head as he pulled a schematic of the shattered Battlestar _Vanguard_ from the duffle.

Laying it out on the plot table, Cullen pulled a grease pencil from the uniform pocket and leaned in over the schematic.

"Along with the engineering sections, the forward command sections took a lot of damage," began Cullen as he pointed to various areas of the schematic. "Based on the information we're getting from the survivors, the _Vanguard_'s entire computer network was infected by some sort of Cylon virus that compromised their systems."

Pausing, Cullen fiddled uncomfortably with the grease pencil in his hand for a moment.

"From the looks of things, the environmental controls in CIC malfunctioned, sensed a false breach in that section and began increasing the atmospheric pressure inside to compensate. All the exits hatches locked down as the pressure inside CIC shot to over one hundred and ten pounds per square inch."

"What would that have done to the people inside CIC?" asked Ensign Cole hesitantly.

To his dismay, Cole's question immediately sent Kelso's mind on an academic run-through of the effects of atmospheric overpressure and barotrauma on the human body; ruptured lungs and internal organs, bursting blood vessels…

"Believe me, you _don't_ want to know, Ensign," muttered Kelso grimly a moment later as he gently rubbed his eyes.

For her part, Cole seemed to take Kelso's warning at face value.

"Any reason to think our computer systems might be vulnerable?" asked Kelso pointedly.

"Doubtful, _Pacifica_'s systems are pretty obsolete," replied Cullen, biting down on the irony. "Same with _Asterica_, _Proteus_, _Limnos_ and _Kilkis_; all are war vintage and thus presumably hardened. Plus, all of our systems are also in a standalone mode, no network for the Cylons to hack into in the first place."

"Nevertheless, we should probably still check whether the civilian freighter and liners are vulnerable," offered Ensign Cole as she made a few more scribbled notes on one of the pages in front of her.

As Cole finished making the notations, Kelso looked over as the CIC entry hatch swung open, a tall, dark skinned figure stepping through. Catching sight of Kelso, the man quickly stepped up to the plot table.

"Commander Adrian Kelso, I presume?" asked the gentleman as he stood looking across the plot table.

"That's what it says on my driver's license," muttered Kelso as he slowly extended a hand across the table. "From your voice I'm guessing…"

"Director Paul Bess," grinned the man simply as he took hold of Kelso's hand.

With a sincere grin spreading across his face, Kelso gave Bess' hand a firm shake.

"Nice to finally meet you face-to-face," stated Kelso evenly.

"It is indeed," agreed Bess as he leaned in over the plot table. "Appreciate your assistance getting our people off of Sagittaron."

"And I appreciate all the supplies and equipment you had ready for us when we got there," replied Kelso. "But, somehow I doubt you came over here on a simple social call."

"There's truth in that," answered Bess simply as he looked around _Pacifica_'s CIC. "I don't suppose there's somewhere we'd be able to speak a bit more privately?"

"Sure, follow me," said Kelso as he motioned for Bess to follow. "Ensign Cole, you have the conn."

"Aye, sir."

With Bess close behind, Adrian Kelso made his way up the ladderwell to the upper gallery. When she'd still been in commission, this area had been routinely manned with nearly a dozen specialists. Right now, however, all the stations were empty; none of the systems monitored by the stations here were important enough to spare what few trained personnel they had, veteran or active duty, to man them

Leaning back against one of the inactive consoles, Kelso turned and looked Bess in the eye.

"You're here to hash out just who it is who'll be in charge of this fleet, aren't you?" asked Kelso flatly.

"You don't mince words; I like that," replied Bess with a slight smirk. "I thought it might be a good idea to figure out what the ad hoc chain of command will be, yes."

"Well, the captains of the civilian liners are tagging along already, I doubt any of them will be trying to make a break for it on their own," sighed Kelso as he absently thumped the heel of his shoe against the deck. "You already have some of your people in charge of the decommed Assaultstars, correct?"

"I've got Nakaya Foteva over on the _Limnos_, and Mark Shipman on _Kilkis_," nodded Bess as he slowly folded his arms in front of him. "I've left Major Tyle in command of _Proteus_, didn't make sense to switch her out as CO; better to leave our one combat-capable ship under the command of our highest ranking active-duty officer."

"Agreed," sighed Kelso as he too folded his arms. "So that just leaves top billing; who's going to be in overall command?"

Bess let out a half-chuckle.

"Look, instead of dissecting our respective resumes, why don't I just make this simple," began Kelso, taking a deep breath. "You go ahead and take command of the fleet, Bess."

Bess stood silent for a moment, shifting his weight slightly from one foot to another.

"Actually, I was about to say the same thing to _you_," stated Bess, his deep voice resonating a bit in the empty upper gallery.

"Really, why? I certainly have no reasons to doubt your ability to…"

"This is not about doubt, or even so much ability, this is about _experience_," interjected Bess evenly. "Now we were both Commanders in the fleet, both have that training ingrained in us, _but_, you have the combat time under your belt, the bonafide knowledge of what it is to be under fire. I don't. Under the circumstances I'm inclined to defer to that experience."

"That doesn't count for as much as you might think it does," sighed Kelso as he momentarily recalled the haunting image of so many bodies lying on _Pacifica_'s hangar deck.

"If you want me to take command, I will," countered Bess flatly. "But I think our chances would be better with someone in overall command who's got real battle experience with these bastards, and that is you."

Looking over at Bess, Adrian Kelso mulled over what his counterpart had said.

The heaps of irony created by this crisis were getting deep enough to need a shovel to sift through.

He'd spent so many decades wrestling with the guilt he carried over having gone toe-to-toe with the Cylons and survived while so many of the good men and women under his command had perished. And now, decades after he'd forsworn such daunting responsibility, the Fates were tossing him head first into a situation of even greater task, one with far more grievous consequences should he fail.

"If we're going to survive this, we need the man who faced off with five Basestars from this very CIC, and _won_."

"I can't take all the credit; my CAG took one of them down solo," muttered Kelso, looking away from Bess.

"And if he were here, I'd be thrilled to have him in the cockpit of a Viper, but he's not here; _you_ are."

Letting out a long, deep breath, Kelso glanced back down into the CIC below.

At the plot table, Ensign Cole was keeping a vigilant eye on the DRADIS.

Elsewhere about the _Pacifica_, veteran members of his old crew, men and women who'd also been there on the day when Kelso 'faced off with five Basestars', as Bess so eloquently put it, were busying themselves with relearning old tasks.

Moreover, somewhere in nearby space, holding a watchful vigil in a Raptor over the _Vanguard_'s evacuation were Lieutenant Lee and Lieutenant Cooper, themselves initially the epitome of skepticism regarding Kelso's leadership.

All these people, still alive because at some point they'd placed their faith in his ability to get them through this horror.

And now Paul Bess was voicing a similar sentiment.

"Okay," sighed Kelso finally, looking back over at Bess with the slightest hint of a smile. "But if I'm the Admiral, you're my Chief of Staff, so don't think you're off the hook for anything."

Chuckling, Bess took hold of Kelso's hand in a firm shake.

"None of us are off the hook until we find a way out of this mess," smiled Bess as he turned and began making his way back over to the stairwell. "I'll see what I can do about speeding up the evac so we can get the hell out of here."

"I guess that means I need to figure out exactly where it is we're heading," said Kelso as he stood up and likewise made his way towards the stairwell.

As he made his way back down to the lower main area of CIC, Adrian Kelso took several steadying breaths, fighting the subtle, curious vertigo that was taking hold over him.

He was in command again.

Not just of one ship, of just _Pacifica_, but now a fleet.

"Never dreamed I'd make Admiral," muttered Kelso as he reached the bottom of the stairwell.

"Sir?" asked Cullen, pausing midstep.

Adrian Kelso hadn't seen his former Tactical Operations Officer at the bottom of the stairwell, and frankly felt a bit foolish now having been caught talking to himself, nevertheless, he looked over at Cullen with the slightest of grins.

"Apparently the other captains drew straws and drafted me into command of our fleet," smiled Kelso lightly. "Serves me right for missing the meeting."

Chuckling slightly, Cullen held up the small duffle bag he'd brought into CIC.

"Then I suppose this might be a bit more appropriate than I'd originally intended," said Cullen as he handed the duffle over to Kelso.

"What's in the bag?" asked Kelso somewhat dubiously as he took hold of the straps.

"You won't know till you open it, sir," replied Cullen, tilting his head towards the bag as Kelso slowly reached for the zipper. "At first I just grabbed it for fun, a bit of whimsy to try and lighten the mood a bit around here."

Pausing, Kelso looked up from the bag and gave Cullen a curious onceover. When Cullen had remerged into CIC a few minutes ago in a set of Colonial Fleet fatigues, Kelso had thought that act whimsical enough considering the circumstances, what else could he have had in mind?

Holding Cullen's gaze, Kelso slowly unzipped the bag, reached one hand inside, and pulled out an officer's uniform tunic.

"Insignia isn't right for an 'admiral', but it's a start, sir," continued Cullen as Kelso stood appraising the tunic, and the gleaming Commander insignia on the collar.

"You can't be serious, Theo," chuckled Kelso as he went to put the tunic back into the bag.

As he looked back up into Theo Cullen's eyes, however, there was something genuine, even disappointed in the man's eyes.

This had been another act of faith…

…and Adrian Kelso was on the verge of thoughtlessly discounting it out of hand.

Smiling, Kelso withdrew his hand from the bag and extended it to Cullen.

"Thank you, Theo," smiled Kelso as he shook hands with his former Tac Officer.

"Sir," nodded Cullen with a slight smile as he turned and headed back over to the Operations Console.

Looking back down at the bag, Kelso slowly pulled the uniform tunic back out, slowly running his thumb over the polished Commander insignia on the collar.

Although he felt he had led a good life, generally considered himself to be an ethical man, Adrian Kelso had always had difficulty placing much faith in _faith_. Ever since he was a child, he had always had trouble wrapping his mind around the idea that some unseen, ethereal men or women were weaving together the tapestry of his life regardless of his will. The idea of fate had always simply struck him as an excuse for those who didn't want to take responsibility for their lives.

And yet, he was finding it hard to ignore coincidence, especially such an _eerie_ coincidence…

With the barest hint of a smile, Kelso glanced at the size on the tag, placed the uniform back into the bag, and stepped down towards the plot table.

"Anything to report, Ensign Cole?" asked Kelso as he slid the bag straps over his shoulder.

"Negative contacts on DRADIS, Commander," replied Cole as she turned and prepared to relinquish her space below the DRADIS to Kelso. "Best estimates we have say the evacuation of the _Vanguard_ should be completed within the hour."

"Very good, Ensign," said Kelso as he gave the bag on his shoulder a gentle pat. "Maintain your station, I have something I need to take care of real quick; I'll be back momentarily."

"Aye, sir."

With that, Kelso turned and exited CIC.

* * *

******Warstar _Galactica  
_****One Light-Day from Caprica  
**

Helplessness.

As he quickly made his way back to CIC, Commander Sean Kelso had run the full gambit of emotions from terror to rage.

But underlying it all was a cruel sense of helplessness.

One Light-Day out from Caprica, the first wireless messages regarding the Cylon attack had only just begun to reach them.

It now struck him as a bitter irony that those day-old messages would now be little more than cruel bylines, a rehash of battles Kelso now knew to be long since lost.

While he and his meager command staff had held out some hope of receiving a measure of reassurance when they'd first detected the wayward Scimitar gunship on DRADIS, after a few minutes of the informal debrief down on the hangar deck, Kelso had been left feeling nothing if not abysmally sick to his stomach.

Here he was, in command of one of the most powerful warship ever produced by the Twelve Colonies, and she'd been rendered completely impotent by circumstance; what good was a warship when the war had already been fought and lost?

As he rounded the last corner, the Marine in plain fatigues posted outside CIC caught sight of him and came to attention.

As he stepped up to the Marine, Sean Kelso paused.

"At ease, Corporal," said Kelso evenly as he paused to give the Marine a pat on the shoulder.

Taking a steadying breath, Kelso then stepped through the open hatchway into CIC and made his way towards the plot table.

Casting his eyes around CIC, he could see the questioning expressions on the faces of his crew.

Even Major Burke seemed to watch him expectantly.

The news of the attack had them on edge.

The knowledge that a lost ship had linked up with them had only fed their anticipation.

And now it fell to him to take the next step forward, uncertain, at a moment when as the Commander he was expected to display nothing but certainty.

Silently making his way over to the plot table, Sean Kelso glanced over at Major Macedo and Lieutenant Cortez, motioning for them to join him and Major Burke.

"What's the word, Commander?" asked Cortez as he stepped up to the plot table. "How goes the battle?"

Taking a deep breath, Kelso looked at each of his officers, then settled his gaze upon his XO.

"Lieutenant Cortez," began Kelso, taking another breath as he cast his eyes up to DRADIS. "Sound Action Stations."

"Sir?" asked Burke, clearly puzzled.

Looking back over at her, there must have been some measure of impatience conveyed in his expression for Burke instantly picked up the handset on her side of the plot table. Hesitant, Burke nevertheless passed the handset to Lieutenant Cortez, who took hold of it, gave Kelso a hesitant gaze then held it up to his ear as he toggled a switch on the panel. Instantly, throughout CIC, indeed, throughout the ship, the overhead alarm began to blare as Cortez began speaking.

"This is CIC; Action Stations, Action Stations; set Condition One throughout the ship; this is not a drill. Action Stations, Action Stations; set Condition One throughout the ship; this is not a drill. Section heads report to Combat upon manning of Action Stations."

As the few crewmembers around CIC set to the task of verifying the status of their subordinate sections around the ship, all three officers settled back in around the plot table, waiting.

And they continued to wait.

For his part, Sean Kelso stood motionless, watching the overhead DRADIS with a detached numbness as he waited for the various departments aboard ship to report in.

The fact that they had only ten percent of the ship's normal crew complement on board slowed the process, but within minutes each station aboard ship had checked in with Petty Officer Harris at the Communications station.

"All stations, all departments report Action Stations manned and ready, Commander," she called.

"As best as can be at least," amended Burke a moment later.

Hearing her comment, Kelso cast a stern glance towards her, his expression severe enough that she suddenly looked very uncomfortable with the attention he was paying her.

Looking back up at DRADIS, Kelso began to absently drum is fingers on the plot table, unaware, or more accurately, uncaring as to whether or not Burke found it annoying.

"Are we prepared to perform the complete wipe of all computer systems and reload the protected software backups, Major Macedo?" asked Kelso evenly as he continued to scan across the empty DRADIS screen.

"Affirmative, Commander," replied Macedo evenly as he set his binder down on the plot table. "The onboard network is shut down and we are prepared to reformat all drives on your command."

"Get to it," replied Kelso simply as he looked over at the computer programmer. "Be prepared to give me a full status report on the software reload when I return."

"Aye, sir."

With that, Kelso motioned for Major Burke to follow as he turned and headed back out the entryway.

Without a word, Sean Kelso made his way briskly along the corridor towards his quarters with Major Burke following closely behind.

As he stepped through the hatch into his temporary quarters, Kelso made his way over to the safe mounted on the wall.

"Your key, Major?" he said simply.

For a moment, Major Burke did not move.

"The Emergency War Orders, sir?" asked Burke.

"That's why we came down here, Major," replied Kelso flatly, his hand stretched out to Burke expectantly.

"Sir, with all due respect, I have a separate key for a reason; I have to be convinced that the situation is grave enough to warrant opening those sealed orders; I need some answers from you first before I hand over my key."

Dropping his hand, Kelso looked over at his XO rather sternly.

In response, Burke folded her arms across her chest, hesitant, but firm.

Taking a deep breath, Kelso gently scratched his forehead, then took a seat on the armrest of the utilitarian couch next to the safe.

"The situation is far worse than we could have dreamed, Major," sighed Kelso, uncertain of exactly how to be concise with the overabundance of information he'd received from the Scimitar crew. "I can honestly say, take the worst case scenario you can come up with, then make it worse."

Her brow furrowing, Burke likewise softened her stance.

"According to the Scimitar crew, the Cylons launched a massive strategic level offensive," began Kelso, his heart pounding in his chest. "Scorpia, Picon and Caprica were the first hit, and hit _hard_; defense force losses were one hundred percent in the first few minutes of the attack. The Cylons then launched massive orbital strikes against all population centers with MIRVed nuclear ordnance. Raider strikes played havoc throughout the remainder of the Colonies with the Baseships following up soon after in-force; all organized resistance collapsed within the first several hours of the assault."

Taking a deep breath, he looked directly into Burke's eyes.

"By the time we received that first message, Major, the war, such as it was, was already over and we've lost."

"What about the Colonies?" muttered Burke, shaking her head slightly in disbelief. "Have we surrendered? Are the Colonies occupied?"

Taking another deep breath, Kelso simply stared across the bare space at Burke.

"The Colonies are gone, Major," he said simply.

"What do you mean gone, sir?" sputtered Burke, a half chuckle of disbelief escaping her.

"I mean _gone_, Major," sighed Kelso, feeling as though a leaden weight had settled in upon his shoulders. "The Cylons didn't return to _occupy_ us, Tyra, they returned to _annihilate_ us."

The continued expression of utter disbelief on Major Burke's face conveyed far more desperation and horror than any words she might have uttered ever could.

Reaching into his pocket, Kelso pulled out a simple folded sheet of paper. It was a printout given to him by the Scimitar crew, a communiqué listing in brief the relevant information regarding their home worlds. Unfolding the simple sheet, Kelso handed it over to Burke.

With her hands beginning to shake, Burke scanned over the communiqué, her face growing pale, before finally looking up at him again.

"Twenty-one billion casualties?" she muttered in utter disbelief.

"An estimate at best," replied Kelso. "And just a preliminary one at that."

Her whole body beginning to shake, Burke took a few hesitant steps back, the communiqué beginning to crumple as her hand reflexively began to clench into a fist around it.

For a few moments, the two of them stood staring at one another.

Uncertainty…

Hopelessness…

Reaching out with his hand, Kelso motioned for Burke to hand the communiqué back to him.

Looking down at her own hand, knuckles ghostly white from how tightly she was clenching the printout, Burke slowly handed the message back to Kelso.

Absently smoothing some of the new creases out, Kelso folded the message back up and placed it back in his pocket.

"What do we do now, Commander?" she asked, her voice raspy with choked-back tears.

At first, the question simply hung there between them, so profound that it almost seemed like a third presence there in the nearly empty quarters.

Looking back over at her, Kelso suppressed the first thing that came to his mind.

He didn't dare say that he didn't know what to do.

And that was when it truly hit him.

Never during the entire scope of his career had Commander Sean Kelso been so keenly aware that he was an engineer by trade, not a line officer. He was originally only intended to be in command of this new _Galactica_ for the duration of her shakedown. He was certainly never meant to take her into an operational situation, much less combat.

As he sat on the armrest, mulling over Burke's question, acutely aware of her expectant gaze, Sean Kelso knew only one thing for certain; whether he was _meant_ to be or not didn't matter; right now, he _was_ in command.

"Commander?" prodded Burke.

Looking back over at her, Kelso took a deep breath.

Overhead, the lights flickered for a moment.

The computers being reformatted…

When the flickering stopped a moment later, so too did Kelso's apprehension.

"As I see it, Major, we have one distinct advantage going for us right now," began Kelso as he stood back up. "It would seem the Cylons have absolutely no idea that we're out here, otherwise they would have jumped in and attacked us by now."

"Yes, sir."

"Now, she may not yet be in commission, but this _is_ a Colonial warship, and we _are_ Colonial officers; those two factors considered, I'll be damned if I'm just going to sit on my hands out here and wait for the Cylons to find us, and that's why I need to get our EWO's."

With that, Kelso once again stepped up to the wall safe, pulled the dog tags from around his neck, and inserted the lone key hanging down on the end of the chain into one of the two tumblers.

Without a word, Major Burke likewise pulled a key from around her neck and inserted it into the second tumbler, taking a step back once she had done so.

Turning both keys then the locking latch, Kelso opened the safe door, reached inside, and pulled a binder and several plastic-encased key-code cards from within.

Handing the key-codes over to Burke, Kelso retrieved the two keys, handing Burke's back to her before hanging his own back around his neck, then stepped over to the simple desk and opened the binder.

"Sir, _are_ you planning to take this ship into the fight?" asked Burke as she watched Kelso flip past the first several pages in the binder.

Quickly skimming through the pages of the binder, Kelso paused as he came to the page he'd been searching for.

"According to Major Macedo, the CNP has been compromised by a saboteur at the Ministry of Defense," began Kelso as he ran a finger along the lines of text on the page. "Considering the vast majority of the fleet has already been lost, it would seem that whatever those Cylon algorithms were meant to do they accomplished. Now, if our computer wipe is successful, we may be the only vessel capable of operating without interference from the Cylons."

Pulling the sheet from the binder, Kelso handed it over to Burke.

"My intent is simple, Major. We're going to take this ship into the combat zone, and either link up with any surviving friendly forces or otherwise try and rescue as many people as we can."

With that, Kelso saw something he'd never seen nor truly ever expected to see; Major Tyra Burke was smiling. It wasn't as much a smile of amusement, but more of satisfaction.

He understood why too.

A plan, _any_ plan, no matter how small, could offer some measure of hope out of despair.

"Now, this sheet," began Kelso pointing to the page he'd just passed to Burke. "This is a list of all the emergency fleet rally points assigned to us. As soon as Major Macedo has our FTL back up, we'll start jumping to those points."

"Aye, sir," replied Burke as she glanced down at the sheet.

After a moment, Burke looked up at him once more, a question in her eyes.

"What's the likelihood of finding survivors, Commander?" asked Burke pointedly. "If the devastation is that bad, other than these rally points, where do we look?"

Looking back up at the Major, Kelso didn't reply, but Burke must have read his expression.

"Got it, Commander, one step at a time," amended Burke a moment later.

Closing the binder, Kelso straightened up, tucked the folder underneath one arm and began moving back towards the entryway.

As he reached out to open the hatch, Kelso paused, turned and looked back over at Burke.

"Look, Major, I think I have a pretty good idea what you think of me," began Kelso, taking a tentative step back towards Burke. "You are a line officer, I'm an engineer."

Taking a breath, Kelso relaxed his stance a bit.

"Now, we're about to take this ship into harm's way. I need to know, right now; do I have your support?"

Burke stood there for a moment, her fingers playing with the page in her hands. She seemed uncertain, hesitant. But the question remained, would she trust Kelso's judgment? Could he trust hers?

"Major?"

After a moment, Major Burke took a steadying breath, step towards him and saluted.

"Ready to serve, Commander," she said simply.

* * *

******Battlestar _Pacifica  
_****Near Emergency Fleet Rally Point 625NW  
**

Taking a deep breath, Adrian Kelso ran one last hand down the front of the uniform tunic as he stood outside the entry hatch to CIC. Standing next to the entryway, one of the Marines who'd been part of the reunion's honor guard, at first clearly surprised to see the old veteran in a full uniform, came to full attention and rendered a salute.

"Looks good on you, sir," he remarked as he noted Kelso's repeated preening.

"Been a _long_ time since I wore a uniform," smiled Adrian Kelso.

Taking a deep breath, Kelso looked at the worn CIC hatch.

One last swipe of his hand along the sleeve, Kelso nodded to the Marine, who immediately opened the hatch for his entry.

Stepping through, Kelso was greeted by more than a few of the curious glances he'd expected.

What he hadn't expected was the sight of Ensign Jinara Cole immediately snapping to attention at the plot table.

"Commander on deck!" she snapped, smiling slightly.

Slowly, everyone around CIC, veteran and impromptu crew alike, rose to their feet.

A few, Theo Cullen included began to clap.

Shaking his head, Adrian Kelso made his way back over to the plot table.

"Okay, knock it off," chuckled Kelso as he waved dismissively towards them.

As they each went back to their tasks, Kelso settled back in below the DRADIS, casting his eyes up at the display.

"Status of the evacuation, Ensign?"

"All personnel have been transferred, Commander," replied Cole as she handed a stack of hand scribbled reports over to Kelso. "A good amount of stores and material were also retrieved."

"Good to hear, considering the circumstances," muttered Kelso as he looked over a few of the annotations.

After perusing the pages a bit longer, Kelso set the stack back down on the table and looked back up at DRADIS.

"Capshaw, go ahead and signal _Asterica_ that we are ready to get back underway," called Kelso as his eyes settled back in on the icon of the now-abandoned _Vanguard_.

"Aye, sir."

"_Proteus_ has already severed her docking connections and is clear," continued Ensign Cole.

"Now comes the really important question," sighed Kelso as he looked back across at her. "Where do we go next?"

"What about jumping to another rally point, Commander?" offered Cole evenly. "We might be able to locate more survivors."

Taking a deep breath, Kelso looked once more at the icon for the pulverized Battlestar _Vanguard_.

"If we were all combat vessels, I would agree with you Ensign," began Kelso evenly. "But here's the problem; we're _not_ combat ships anymore. We're unarmed and awfully conspicuous on DRADIS, not to mention crammed to the rafters with tens of thousands of civilians; much too tempting a target for the Cylons to pass up if one of the recon patrols stumbles across us."

Lightly drumming his fingers on the plot table, Kelso fought to absorb the harsh reality he knew he had no choice but to accept; there was only so many people that they would be able to save.

"The more time we spend hopping about inside what is now enemy territory, the more we'll be pressing our luck."

"But we did manage to get a significant amount of munitions loaded aboard _Proteus_, sir," countered Ensign Cole. "That plus her air wing, we should be able to fight off an attack."

"But only to a point," countered Kelso evenly. "One aged Combatstar would be no match for a single Basestar, much less if the Cylons come at us in force, which they're almost sure to do."

Taking another deep breath, Kelso looked back across into her youthful, expectant eyes.

"We need to concentrate on getting everyone situated and then taking the survivors we have the hell out of here before our luck runs out."

"Understood, sir."

There was obvious disappointment in Cole's voice, but it couldn't be helped.

Looking over to Theo Cullen, Kelso waved the man over to the plot table.

"Bring that overlay with you," called Kelso as Cullen began making his way over.

"This is our current position," began Cullen as he stepped up, unrolled the large chart across the plot table and made a grease pencil mark on the overlay.

Leaning in over the chart, Kelso picked up the grease pencil.

A proverbial 'top-down' view of the Colonial system, Kelso's eyes began searching for something, anything in which they could hide or evade detection. Trouble was, their current position was deep within a clear, unobstructed area of space, far from celestial bodies. After a few fruitless moments of looking over chart, growing somewhat frustrated, Kelso glanced back up at DRADIS.

And was startled to see a massive wave of distortion pass across the screen.

"What was that?" muttered Cole, having also apparently noticed the distortion.

Looking up at the DRADIS, Cullen expectantly watched along with Cole and Kelso as the screen remained clear for a few moments.

Suddenly, another distortion wave passed, flaring a bit more intensely than it had before.

"Cullen?"

Focusing in, Cullen watched as yet another distortion wave crossed the DRADIS.

"We must be passing into the emission path of a pulsar," noted Cullen as he continued to watch the distortions. "They're occurring at regular intervals."

"Must be pretty close to be having that much effect of DRADIS," noted Ensign Cole.

"Here," snapped Kelso as he pointed to a formation near the edge of the chart. "Leto's Twins."

"Binary pulsar formation," noted Cullen as he looked down at the area indicated by Kelso. "Not quite as far as the Red Line, but still pretty far out there, sir."

"But close enough for us to make a jump, try and hide till we get ourselves better situated," continued Kelso as he absently made a circle around the formation with the grease pencil. "Think you can plot that jump?"

"Might need to make a series of shorter jumps," muttered Cullen as he gently rubbed his jaw if thought. "It's about ten light-years; never plotted one that far, not even during the war."

"But can you do it?"

Cullen gently rubbed his chin, his expression thoughtful as he played with the stubble forming around his jaw line.

"Guess we won't know till I try," he replied a moment later.

"Get to it," said Kelso simply.

As Cullen stepped away towards the larger plot board, Kelso settled back in underneath the DRADIS, watching the regular pulses of distortion with great interest.

"I have a question, sir," began Cole as she leaned in a little over the plot table. "If we're picking up this much distortion from the pulsars at a distance of ten light-years, won't we risk having our systems fried by the emissions by getting right in on top of the pulsars?"

"The energy emissions of the pulsars radiate outwards along the same magnetic axis as their orbit around one another," began Kelso as he looked across into her questioning eyes. "The distortion effects on DRADIS _will_ increase dramatically the closer we get to the pulsars, in fact I'm counting on it. But as long as we stay above the rotational and orbital plane of the pulsars, we should be able to stay clear of the more damaging levels of interference."

"Like the eye of a hurricane?"

"More or less," continued Kelso, lightly shaking his hand as he continued to mull over the chart on the table. "It won't be easy navigating through such strong magnetic currents, but if we can get in there, the Cylons could practically sit on our proverbial doorstep banging away with DRADIS and never know we were there."

"Commander?" called Aria Capshaw from Communications.

"What is it, Aria?"

"Report from _Asterica_, sir; Director Bess says the rescue and offload from _Vanguard_ is complete; we're ready to get back underway at your discretion."

"Very well," replied Kelso evenly. "Are the scuttle charges set on the _Vanguard_'s main tylium tanks?"

"Affirmative, sir."

"Are we certain there's no one still alive left aboard, Commander?" asked Cole, keeping her voice low.

Looking back across to her, Adrian Kelso had to remind himself just how inexperienced she truly was. By her own admission, she'd just barely graduated from the Fleet Academy.

So young…

"There's no way we can be absolutely certain, Ensign," sighed Kelso as he glanced back up at the dead Battlestar's DRADIS icon. "She suffered some fairly extensive damage, lots of spaces were sealed shut because of decompressed compartments. All we can do is _hope_ we got everyone."

Gently nodding her head, Cole looked back up at DRADIS.

"Signal all ships to form up," began Kelso, straightening up, absently running a hand down the front of his new uniform tunic. "Begin sealing all Starboard side airlocks, prepare for break away."

As he stood stoic below DRADIS, Kelso watched as first _Pacifica_, then _Asterica_ severed their connections to the lifeless _Vanguard_.

At least, he hoped she was lifeless.

There was no way to know for certain that there weren't still some hapless crewmembers trapped behind a sealed bulkhead, struggling, desperate.

But for all the uncertainty, Adrian Kelso had to focus his attention on the concrete, the known, the definite.

Huddled aboard this handful of ships that made up his impromptu fleet were several thousand survivors, military and civilian alike. He couldn't afford to risk them on an uncertainty.

As the smaller civilian liners and freighters formed up close to the larger former warships, the improvised flotilla began putting distance between themselves and the pulverized battle group they left in their wake.

"We have now reached safe distance, Commander," called Theo Cullen.

"Prepare to detonate the scuttle charges," replied Kelso evenly as he eyes remained intently locked on the icons of _Vanguard_ and her pulverized escorts.

While he'd initially had some qualms about outright destroying the _Vanguard_ following the evacuation, in the end, the same lingering military training that had apparently landed him squarely back in overall command had finally worn through his hesitation.

In purely military terms, if they left the _Vanguard_ intact and the Cylons returned and boarded her, they would be able to determine that survivors had been rescued, supplies transferred. Worse still, if the Cylons returned and learned that _Vanguard_'s crew had been rescued, then detected emissions from Leto's Twins, the Cylons might very well be able to track down the fleeing Colonials.

It was better to leave as few traces of their presence as possible.

The Cylons were many things; murderers to be certain, butchers on a genocidal scale, but he would never accuse them of being stupid. And with nothing better than an obsolete Combatstar to protect them, Kelso wanted to avoid a confrontation with the Cylons at almost any cost.

Still, he found it hard to issue the order to scuttle _Vanguard_.

"Commander?" prodded Cullen after a few moments of Kelso starring silently up at DRADIS.

"Detonate the scuttle charges, Mr. Cullen," said Kelso evenly, his eyes never looking away.

A few moments later, under his vigilant gaze, Kelso watched as the DRADIS flared once more, not from the pulsar, but from the massive detonation of _Vanguard_'s remaining tylium fuel.

As the distortion cleared, the _Vanguard_ and the remains of her pulverized escorts were gone.

At last looking away, Kelso caught sight of Cole, the young officer's head dipped slightly, her eyes closed as she silently offered a prayer to the gods.

He'd almost forgotten how religiously devout the young woman's grandmother had been, the elder Cole often seen muttering a prayer before the _Pacifica_ had gone into battle time and again so many years ago.

As Ensign Cole finished, she looked up, her cheeks flushing slightly when she noticed Adrian Kelso watching her.

"Be sure to say one for us as well, Ensign," smiled Kelso.

"Might have more influence with the gods coming from a Commander, sir," replied Cole, smiling slightly herself.

"Takes a pure heart to offer the gods an honest prayer," countered Kelso evenly. "Considering everything that's happened recently, I'm not feeling very pure right now."

"Then I'll be sure to offer one for you as well, sir," replied Cole earnestly, honestly as she focused her attention back up at DRADIS.

"Never too late for redemption, I suppose," smiled Adrian Kelso.

As he let the moment of levity pass, Kelso looked across CIC to the larger plot table where Theo Cullen was still diligently plotting, or at least attempting to plot the jump to Leto's Twins.

"Waiting for the good word, Mr. Cullen," prodded Kelso.

Glancing up momentarily, mostly in earnest annoyance, Cullen didn't respond at first. Instead of pressing the issue, Kelso instead waited, watching.

"I think I have it, sir," called Cullen a few moments later. "I've done my best to correct for stellar drift, these charts are rather old, but I've broken the trip down into half-a-dozen smaller jumps just to be safe."

Picking up the overlay on which he'd been working, Cullen made his way back over to Kelso and Cole.

"We'll have to take a pause at the end of each leg for the cores to recharge, but it will give us time to take some astrometric readings to verify our position before the next jump," began Cullen as he laid out the overlay. "But, it's the best way to avoid having the coordinates too far off the mark."

"Go ahead and distribute the first set of coordinates to the fleet," said Kelso as he took a cursory glance at the overlay. "And just to be safe, let's see if the nav computers on any of the civilian ships can help mitigate the margin of error."

Looking up from the chart, Kelso looked over at Cullen, his former Tactical Officer's expression clearly concerned.

"Look, Theo," sighed Kelso as he reached over and placed a hand on Cullen's shoulder. "I know these charts are old and this situation sucks, so I'm not expecting miracles to be trickling down as though from the fingers of the gods here."

Visibly heartened, Cullen let out a chuckle.

"All I need is for you to do, not the best _you think_ you can do, but the best that _I know_ you can do, alright?"

"Aye, Commander," chuckled Cullen as he stepped away.

"Capshaw, get on the short range wireless and advise the other ships to standby for the first set of jump coordinates," said Kelso.

"Aye, sir."

Absently drumming his fingers on the plot table, Kelso stood waiting for verification from the other ships that they had received the coordinates from Cullen.

The last thing he wanted to do was risk leaving someone behind.

"Sir, all ships have checked in and report solid copy on receipt of initial jump coordinates," called Capshaw.

"Very well," replied Kelso, straightening up a bit.

Reaching down, Kelso picked up the handset on the side of the plot table and toggled the switch to engineering.

"_Franklin_."

"Everything still a go with the FTL, Mike?"

"_Board still shows green on this end_," replied Franklin evenly.

"Very well," said Kelso simply, hanging up the handset a moment later.

Taking a deep breath, Adrian Kelso looked around at the faces in CIC.

They were all tired, each one, he could see it plainly in their eyes.

Gods knew he was tired too.

But not one of them had begun to show any sign of wavering in their tasks, and from that he drew a clarity that sliced through his fatigue.

In their strength, he found strength within himself.

"Start the clock, Mr. Cullen."

* * *

******Warstar _Galactica  
_****One Light-Day from Caprica  
**

With his XO, Major Tyra Burke following close behind, Commander Sean Kelso stepped back into CIC, quickly cutting a path back towards the plot table.

Having been escorted up by Kelso's temporary CAG, Major Thomas Culver, the two Scimitar pilots, Lieutenants Samantha Larson and John Becker stood waiting at the plot table.

After his initial debriefing of the two pilots down in the hangar bay, Kelso had been quick to order the two pilots not to discuss with anyone else what they knew about the extent of the devastation unleashed upon their home worlds. For all his crew knew at this point, the Cylons had begun an attack but the Colonial Fleet was still in the fight.

As he looked around at the faces in CIC, however, by their expressions he could see that they were beginning to suspect that something far worse had taken place. The arrival of the Scimitar crew was too unusual to simply write off as part of the fortunes and folly of war.

Stepping into the very heart of CIC, Kelso looked out into their eyes, felt them in turn watching him.

He knew he owed them the truth.

Terrible as that truth was, they deserved honesty.

If only he didn't also feel as though he were robbing them of hope.

Stepping up to the plot table, Kelso nodded to the quartet of officers assembled around it.

Taking one last, silent look around CIC, Kelso steeled himself as he reached down, picked up the handset and slowly raised it to his lips.

"Put me on the One-MC, XO," said Kelso, his throat dry.

Setting the Emergency War Orders they'd retrieved from his quarters down onto the plot table, Burke reached over and toggled the switch.

"You're on, sir," she said simply.

"This is the Commander," began Kelso, clearing his dry throat. "As you know, a few hours ago, this ship began receiving reports of an attack by the Cylons against our home worlds, reports that at our current distance from the Colonies are already one day old in real time."

Pausing, Kelso again looked out into the faces around CIC.

"A short time ago, we made contact with a Colonial vessel that jumped out into this region due to a navigational error. While I wish to the gods that I could tell you that they brought good news regarding a successful counterattack by our own forces, I regret that this is simply not the case."

"From their reports and the information contained in their communication logs, it is clear that all effective resistance against the Cylons has completely collapsed, with the most conservative estimates placing the fleet losses in excess of ninety-six percent since the opening of the attack."

"An offer by the President of the Colonies of a complete and unconditional surrender was rejected, the Cylon forces instead initiating heavy orbital bombardment of all major population centers throughout the Colonies, and reports of numerous high-yield nuclear detonations have been confirmed."

"While I know you are all thinking about the safety of your friends, your families, I need to ask each of you to try and stay focused and concentrate on the task which we must now undertake."

"We _will_ be returning to the Colonies in order to find and rescue as many as we can in the wake of this atrocity. _That_ is our mission. _That_ is our duty."

"We will be sailing into harm's way, and on the uncertain path that lies ahead, I can only promise you my resolve. I ask that you find that same determination within yourselves to carry us through what will certainly be difficult times yet ahead."

With that, Kelso passed the handset to Major Burke.

"All hands, all stations; this is the XO; maintain Action Stations; submit bi-hourly reports on status to Combat."

As Major Burke hung up the handset, Commander Sean Kelso caught sight of Major Macedo as the computer specialist made his way down from the upper gallery.

"Status of our computer systems?" asked Kelso simply as Macedo stepped up to the plot table.

"Network has been severed and all systems reformatted, Commander," replied Macedo evenly. "All software has been reloaded and systems are operating normally."

"What about our FTL?" continued Kelso as he slowly turned opened and then began leafing through the pages of EWO binder.

"The protected archives did contain an older navigational program that should be compatible with our systems. Calculations may take a little longer to complete between jumps, but we should be ready to jump within the hour, sir."

"I'll hold you to that, Major," replied Kelso evenly as he looked up at Macedo. "Nevertheless, as soon as that is complete I have another important task for you and your team."

"The Scimitar down on the hangar deck took some damage, knocked out their primary navigational computer," began Kelso as he nodded his head over towards the Scimitar crew. "I need you to try and retrieve the original coordinates they were supposed to jump to."

"Depends on which components were hit, that could be tricky," sighed Macedo as he opened his own binder and scribbled and annotation down inside. "If the system completed the jump before the computer gave out, the coordinates should be in the nav log on the hard drive, but if they were still lingering in flash memory, that would be more problematic."

"Which is why we're turning this over to the computer experts," said Kelso, closing the EWO binder and sliding it back over to Major Burke. "Exhaust every option."

"Is there any particular reason we need those coordinates, Commander?" asked Major Burke.

Instead of answering directly, Kelso motioned over to the two Scimitar crewmen.

"Before we jumped, we were assisting in an evacuation operation from Sagittaron, Major," began Lieutenant Samantha.

"Several passenger liners and freighters were supposed to rendezvous at those coordinates," continued Lieutenant John Becker. "And us with them."

"Confirmed survivors," stated Kelso evenly. "If those civilian ships have been able to evade the Cylons, then I intend to find them."

"We'll need to do it fast," said Major Burke as she began flipping through the EWO binder herself. "Without an armed escort, they won't last long if the Cylons find them."

"They're not exactly without armed escort, Major," interjected Lieutenant Larson.

Looking up from the binder in subtle surprise, Burke looked over at the Scimitar pilot, then to Kelso.

For his part, Kelso also seemed somewhat surprised.

"You didn't mention anything about an escort before," began Kelso as he leveled both Scimitar crewmen with a mildly chiding gaze. "Who's escorting them?"

"Did they manage to link up with survivors from the Fleet?" interjected Major Culver.

"Not exactly," began Larson, looking over somewhat hesitantly at Becker.

For his part, Becker simply shrugged.

"Might as well tell them, Sam," he began. "They can't exactly throw us in the brig for someone else's crazy idea."

"But I can throw you in the brig if you keep evading my question," warned Kelso, his tone taking on an edge. "Who is escorting those civilian ships?"

"On Sagittaron there is, or was, an old reserve depot," began Larson, obviously taking Kelso's warning quite seriously. "The depot's director evacuated a large number of civilians up to a couple of the mothballed warships in orbit and used them to escape along with the civilian ships."

"If the ships were mothballed, how did he manage to get them ready so quickly?" asked Burke. "I've seen some of the ships at that depot, was assigned there, briefly thank the gods, any one of those ships should have taken weeks to get space worthy."

"Not necessarily," interjected Kelso thoughtfully. "Several of those derelicts were scheduled to be FTL'd out to us for the weapons tests next week; they were going to be our targets."

"Why would they put FTL's on target ships, though?" asked Major Culver. "Seems like a waste of effort for something destined to be shot up."

"Because at sub-light it would have taken over a week to move them out to us," replied Kelso evenly. "Several years before his people blew up that Federal building on Sagittaron, Tom Zarak ordered a few of his merry band of miscreants to try and seize an old derelict being towed to the breakers."

"But if it was decommissioned, there wouldn't have been any weapons aboard," noted Major Burke. "What would be the point of seizing control of an unarmed hulk?"

"A big ship makes a fair substitute for a big missile, Major," replied Kelso evenly. "Drop it from orbit down onto Caprica City and the blast wave would be greater than a fifty megaton detonation."

"They obviously weren't able to make good on the attempt," interjected Major Culver.

"No, but the Ministry of Defense took the threat of it seriously enough to change policy," continued Kelso. "Since an entire FTL core is simply too large to extract without ripping a ship apart, only key components are removed when a ship is decommissioned to the mothball fleet. Those parts are relatively cheap, especially when weighed against the possibility that someone else might be able to succeed where Zarak and his zealots failed."

"So okay, the director of the Sagittaron depot managed to evacuate some civilians aboard a bunch of derelicts; where does that leave us?" asked Burke pointedly.

"Leaves us with the mission to find them," stated Kelso evenly as he looked to each and every officer assembled around the table.

"About how many ships are we searching for here?" asked Major Culver as he looked over at the two Scimitar crewmen.

"Presuming they all got away, there should be about ten passenger liners, four freighters, two old Assaultstars from the depot, two Battlestars and an old Combatstar riding as prime escort," replied Lieutenant Larson evenly.

"That's a lot of ships," muttered Major Culver.

"Precisely the reason we need to find them," stated Kelso, a split second before his mind digested all of what Larson had said.

Pausing, Kelso scowled as he reached down and picked up the now relatively useless testing agenda and flipped through the stack to the page showing next week's cancelled weapons testing schedule.

"Wait, you said _two_ old Battlestars?" asked Kelso as his finger settled on a line item in the schedule. "According to this manifest there was only supposed to be _one_ used as a target."

"Wait, he's right, one wasn't at the depot originally, remember?" interjected Becker as he gave Larson's shoulder a gentle nudge. "The one that showed up mid-evac?"

"Yeah, that's right," muttered Larson, snapping her fingers lightly as she too remembered. "What was the name of it...?"

"It was that old museum ship from Libran wasn't it?" continued Becker as he too sought to try and remember.

For Commander Sean Kelso, however, the brief exchange immediately grabbed his attention.

A museum ship?

It couldn't be…

But then again, if anyone could find a way to survive this…

"_Pacifica_?" asked Kelso tentatively.

"Yes, that's it, _Pacifica_," snapped Larson instantly.

"Crazy story, the ship's veteran crew from the war was having a reunion when the attack started," continued Becker, chuckling slightly. "Apparently they just started up the old girl and flew her straight to Sagittaron for the spare parts they needed to get their FTL back up."

Commander Sean Kelso's heart skipped more than a few beats as he digested this new information.

"Do you know who was in command of _Pacifica_?" asked Kelso evenly, fighting to keep his racing heart from jumping through his throat.

"Can't say, sir, we were too busy on the surface," replied Larson evenly.

Taking a deep breath, Commander Sean Kelso turned and took a few tentative steps away from the plot table.

"Commander?" asked Major Burke as she looked over at the Commander's back.

"My father, Major," he replied, turning back to face his XO. "My father was supposed to be aboard the _Pacifica_ for the reunion."

"Wait, your father is Commander _Adrian_ Kelso, the _Pacifica_'s CO during the Battle of Libran?" asked Major Culver pointedly.

"Yes," replied Kelso simply.

For a moment, the assemblage of officers simply exchanged a few clipped glances, unsure how to react.

Wasn't the first time he'd gotten that reaction; since his first day at OCS, he'd been very deliberate in his efforts to avoid the scrutiny that came with being the son of a sanctified military hero.

Outwardly ignoring the reaction of his senior officers, Commander Sean Kelso stepped silently back up to the plot table as he digested the information provided by Larson and Becker. His father had been planning to go to the reunion, had he made it aboard, was he in command of the _Pacifica_?

After a few moments, he looked back over at his XO.

"What are your orders, Commander?" she asked evenly.

Taking a deep breath, Kelso could read in her eyes what she hadn't outright asked…

As Commander, would Sean Kelso unduly risk the _Galactica_ and her crew in an effort to rescue his father?

But as calculating and intelligent an officer as she was, Burke's professional discretion kept her from asking so toxic a question outright, especially in the middle of CIC.

Later, however, away from prying eyes, it was clear from her expression that something more might still be said…

"We continue as planned, Major," replied Kelso evenly. "We make a series of jumps to the emergency rally points listed in our EWO's and attempt to link up with other surviving Colonial military forces. If or when Major Macedo and his team are able to retrieve the coordinates from the Scimitar's nav computer, we will jump to the refugee rendezvous point and begin to search for those civilian ships."

"Understood, Commander," replied Major Burke evenly, pausing to look him in the eye, attempting to read what was lurking within his thoughts.

After a moment, Major Burke stepped away with the list of emergency rally point coordinates towards Lieutenant Cortez.

"Advise me when we're ready to make our first jump, Major," called Kelso as he focused his attention back in on the DRADIS overhead.

"Aye, sir."

"Major Culver, go ahead and take Lieutenant Larson and Lieutenant Becker below," began Kelso evenly, his gaze never leaving DRADIS. "Get them a shower, some chow, hustle them up a change of uniform, then get them back down to the hangar deck to assist Major Macedo with the data retrieval."

"Aye, sir," replied Culver as he motioned for the two Scimitar crewman to follow.

"Oh, and one more thing," began Kelso as he looked over at the two junior officers. "Damned fine work."

With that, both Lieutenant Larson and Lieutenant Becker came to attention and rendered a salute. Returning the salute, Kelso refocused his attention on DRADIS as the pilots followed Major Culver out of CIC.

"First jump coordinates have been entered, Commander," called Major Burke a few moments later. "The board shows green; all systems go for jump."

"Very well, Major Burke," replied Kelso as he picked up the handset on the side of the plot table, toggling the switch for the overhead One-MC. "All stations, this is the Commander; it's time for us to join the war; all stations secure for FTL jump."

"All decks report ready for jump, sir," called Lieutenant Cortez.

"Start the clock, Lieutenant."

"Aye, sir, jumping in five, four…"

As he listened with an almost detached awareness as Lieutenant Cortez counted down, Commander Sean Kelso's mind raced.

Would they find any other surviving Colonial units at any of the rally points?

"Three…"

Would they be able to find the civilians before the Cylons did?

"Two…"

Was his father still alive?

"One; jump!"

As his perceptions skewed with the transition of the Warstar _Galactica_ beyond the confines of normal three-dimensional physics, Commander Sean Kelso felt a renewed drive, a determination that grew more powerful, more resolute.

If Adrian Kelso _was_ alive, then Sean Kelso was going to find him.


	6. Part 5 - A Fighting Chance

**Battlecruiser _Enceladus  
_****Near Emergency Fleet Rally Point 731NE  
**

Colonel Thadius Runel stepped through the hatch back into CIC.

While the scene out in the corridor could easily have been defined as chaotic with a myriad of support personnel rushing back and forth past an equally huddled mass of refugees from the _Republica_ taking up just about every last bit of space not already allocated to someone or something else, Runel had halfway hoped that CIC would serve as his enclave of order amidst the commotion.

So much for wishful thinking.

All around CIC, DC teams were busily replacing burnt-out computer displays, patching up damaged bulkheads and blown power relay boxes. Sparks rained down from where one DC team was using a welding torch to burn open a damage-sealed electrical junction box.

Although the _Enceladus_ hadn't sustained any more appreciable damage while escaping from Ragnar, the fact that they had at last been given a respite from the almost two days of constant combat was an opportunity that Runel seized upon to take a pause and allow the Damage Control teams a chance to effect more extensive repairs to the accumulated injuries the ship had suffered.

"Status, Lieutenant Thorpe?" called Colonel Runel as he stepped around the shower of sparks and made his way over to the plot table.

"Primary repairs should be completed within the hour, Colonel," replied the Lieutenant as he stepped down from the upper gallery. "We should be able to get back underway then."

As he stopped and took the clipboard from Thorpe, Runel couldn't miss the evident fatigue in the young man's blood-shot and bleary eyes, his expression sullen and distant.

"How long has it been since you last slept, Lieutenant?" asked Runel evenly as he looked down at the first couple of pages on the clipboard.

"I've lost track, sir," replied Thorpe, grinning weakly as he gently massaged his eyes.

Looking away from the clipboard, Runel looked back up around CIC. Like Thorpe, most of the crewmen hadn't left their posts since the war had begun.

Setting the clipboard down onto the plot table, Runel reached over and picked up the handset on the side of the plot table.

"This is the Colonel," he began a moment after toggling the switch to the overhead One-MC. "At this time I want all section heads to check with their teams. Anyone who has been at their Action Station for over thirty-six hours is to be relieved and report back to their racks for immediate rest. That is an _order_."

Hanging up the handset, Runel looked around at the questioning eyes around CIC.

"Let me be perfectly clear, people," began Runel as he looked to each of his CIC crewmembers. "This is war, and in war there are going to be moments where you will be asked push yourselves through some long hours. But, there are also limits, and I'm not about to have the CMO start handing out stims just to keep you people on your feet."

Pausing, Runel took a breath.

"We're all in strung out shape, but fatigue cannot be an excuse for making a mistake that gets others killed. Anyone here who has not been relieved since before we jumped to Armistice Station, you are to go back to your berthing space and be in your racks for the next six hours, is that understood?"

At first, he didn't receive a response, only several questioning, exhausted glances.

"I said is that understood?" he snapped.

"Yes, sir!" echoed the personnel in CIC in near unisons.

"Everyone else will likewise have an opportunity to rest after this first shift comes back on duty."

As the most heavily exhausted crewmembers around CIC slowly began filtering out the entry hatch, Runel turned and looked over at the visibly hesitant Lieutenant Thorpe.

"That means you too, Lieutenant," he said simply.

"With all due respect, Colonel, you need an XO," replied Thorpe weakly.

"Get some sleep, Lieutenant," replied Runel evenly, smiling a bit as he reached over and patted the young officer on the shoulder. "They'll still be plenty of war to fight when you report back for your next shift."

Thorpe opened his mouth as if to protest further, but inadvertently found himself yawning instead.

Runel let out another small chuckle and patted Thorpe on the shoulder once more.

"You just go get some rest, Lieutenant," said Runel as he gently nudged Thorpe towards the last of the few crewmen exiting out of CIC.

As Thorpe turned and headed out of CIC, Runel turned and watched the parade of exhausted crewmembers.

"And in case any of you were wondering," began Runel as they paused and looked back over at him. "Good work; I'm damned proud of each one of you."

Silently, a few of the crew nodded as they continued on their way out of CIC. A couple paused and shook hands with Runel before exiting, the Colonel making his best effort to mutter something heartening to each as they went by. One crewmen, Petty Officer Jania Coulter muttered a weak 'so say we all', her voice choked and raspy, her fingers making a quick praise gesture for her patron goddess across her forehead as she followed the others out the hatch.

Looking back around, Runel watched as the personnel who had now assumed the vacated posts settled in and picked up the myriad of duties left behind by their exhausted shipmates.

"Who's my oncoming Tac Officer?" barked Runel as he looked about momentarily, himself tired enough to not readily be able to recall a name off the top of his head.

"I guess that would be me, sir," stated one of the two officers huddled around the Operations console.

"You guess?" began Runel looking over at the officer who'd spoken with something less than amusement.

"Yes, sir, Lieutenant Birch, sir," piped the officer once more as he took a tentative step down to the plot table.

"You're normally on the Midwatch, aren't you, Lieutenant?"

"Affirmative, sir."

"Then let me just take this moment to drag you back into the daylight," began Runel, leveling the young officer with a grave, no-nonsense gaze. "I don't ever expect you to use the words 'I guess' in my presence again, it's either 'yes, sir', 'no, sir', or 'request permission to be relieved, sir', am I understood, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, sir," replied Lieutenant Birch, swallowing a none-too-small lump in his throat.

"Very good," muttered Runel, looking away from Birch towards the DRADIS. "Now, get on the short wave and get me an updated status report from _Savitri_, _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_; the one in this pass-on binder is at least three hours old."

"Yes, sir," replied Lieutenant Birch flatly.

As he watched the young officer virtually scurry away out of the corner of his eye, Runel had to stifle a slight chuckle; along with being an effective prod towards keeping people on their toes, sometimes it was just plain fun to shake up a junior officer,.

Taking a deep breath, Runel waited while Lieutenant Birch contacted the other ships. A few minutes later, the young officer stepped up with several printouts and handed them dutifully to Colonel Runel.

"That will be all, Lieutenant," said Runel flatly as he took the sheets, intentionally avoiding looking over at Birch as he did so to ensure he didn't betray his continued amusement.

As Birch stepped away, Runel focused himself back in and began going over the reports sent over from _Savitri_, _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_, the other ships in his small fleet.

As expected, the sheer number of survivors pulled from Rhapsody Station, the abandoned freighters and finally the _Republica_ were beginning to tax the resources of the small fleet. First and foremost was simply a matter of space; while some of the rescued crewmembers had been assigned to replace combat losses, much as it was aboard _Enceladus_, there were still hundreds more on the other ships who were literally stacked up in the corridors waiting for any available bunk space.

He didn't like the idea of so many aimless bodies cramming up the corridors if the ship found itself in another engagement. In a crisis, people without jobs to keep them focused could panic, hamper DC efforts, any number of potential problems his ship and crew just couldn't afford.

"Colonel Runel, sir?" called the Petty Officer at Communications.

"Yes, what is it?" asked Runel, his tone coming off a touch harsher than he meant for it to.

"Sir, I've got a secured line from the _Savitri_, Colonel Webber on the wireless for you, sir."

Taking a deep breath, Runel picked up the handset on the side of the plot table.

"Pipe it down here, Petty Officer," he said evenly, as he lifted the handset to his ear.

After a moment of nothing, then static, Colonel Runel heard the other end of the wireless line pick up.

"This is _Enceladus_-Actual," he said, clearing his throat as he continued to read through the status reports.

"Savitri_-Actual, just wondering if you have a plan of action yet_?" asked the voice of Colonel Webber flatly.

"Our repairs should be completed within the hour," he replied, his attention never leaving the sheets in front of him as he continued to peruse the tally of facts and figures. "I'll advise you of my intent as soon as they are complete."

For a moment, there was a pause on the other end of the line.

Letting the final page fall back to the plot table, Runel stretched his back as he listened to the dead air coming in over the wireless.

"Spit it out, _Savitri_-Actual, you wouldn't be calling if there wasn't something more on your mind," said Runel as he reached up and massaged the bridge of his nose.

"_If it pleases the Colonel, I do have a suggestion_," began Webber, an undercurrent of sarcasm in her tone Runel would have to have been deaf to miss.

"I'm all ears," sighed Runel; at that moment he simply was in no mood to trade barbs with his ex.

"_With Ragnar Anchorage out as a resupply point, I had my XO go through the binder_," began Webber, her tone softening a bit, but not much. "_I suggest we look at plotting a course for the Torvik Anchorage_."

"One moment," replied Runel as he set the handset down on the plot table. "Lieutenant Birch, get me everything we have on Torvik Anchorage."

"Aye, sir."

Within moments, the young officer stepped forward with another binder and set it down on the plot table for Runel. Pulling the binder closer, Runel looked over the sheet regarding the Torvik Anchorage.

After a few seconds of looking over the report, Runel picked the handset back up and motioned for Lieutenant Birch to return to his station.

"Says here that Torvik is out near Leto's Twins, binary pulsars," muttered Runel as he continued to look over the sheet. "Most recent survey indicates a rather significant pulsar wind nebula around them. It's going to be an even bigger bitch navigating in that soup than Ragnar."

"_But there's potentially three times as much ordnance and supplies at the anchorage_," countered Webber.

"And its position in deep space in almost the exact opposite direction from Cylon territory means there could be other surviving forces there," finished Runel as he continued to read down the sizeable manifest list on the station. "I see what you're getting at."

Runel continued to ponder the manifest before him, the unspoken hope that some other units of the Colonial Fleet may have survived never far from his mind.

"Okay, _Savitri_-Actual, I'll bite on your suggestion," he stated evenly. "But not right away. We've still got three jump points on our EWO list; we'll hit each of those first, loiter at each for approximately three hours and see if we can make direct contact with other surviving forces. After that, we'll make the jump out to Torvik."

On the other end of the wireless line, Runel could hear Webber draw a breath as if about to protest. Instead, she simply paused, presumably to mull over whether it was worth the effort to try and push the matter any further.

"_Understood, _Enceladus-_Actual_," she replied finally.

"Now, what about the CAP?" he continued.

"_I've been pouring over the communiqués we've received since the attack began_," sighed Webber. "_As you know the reports are thick with references to the Mark Sevens being shut down along with our capital ships at the outset of engagements_."

"I am aware, yes."

"_Well, until we know the exact cause, I've rotated the nuggets we have aboard for flight quals out of the Mark Sixes there were training in for our more experienced pilots to use; all we can do is hope that's enough._"

"I'll leave that to your discretion, Colonel," replied Runel evenly, again reaching up to rub his strained eyes. "I'll advise when we're ready to get back underway to our next rally point."

"_Understood_," said Webber, terminating the wireless connection a moment later.

Hanging up the handset, Runel looked back down at the data sheet for Torvik Anchorage.

Twin pulsars; that meant they'd be trying to navigate their way through a lot of DRADIS interference.

He almost hoped they wouldn't need to make a jump out to that location. But then, the one lesson Colonel Thadius Runel had learned over these last brutal days was that it didn't matter what he _hoped_ for, what mattered was what he was actually willing to do.

For a moment, Runel found himself wondering if that meant he was becoming a cynic.

* * *

**Serenity Valley  
****Sagittaron Colony  
**

"Quit being so damned cynical," muttered Corporal Dwayne Bowman as he pushed his way past a rather significant bush.

"I'm not being cynical, I'm being a _realist_," replied Lance Corporal Chaffey as he threw a hand up, a moment too late as it turned out, to deflect a branch let go by Bowman. "How do we know this guy isn't leading us into a Cylon ambush."

"Because he's human," countered Lance Corporal Sims as he gently hopped over a fallen tree trunk. "Why would a human betray us to the Cylons?"

"Greed," replied Chaffey flatly. "Maybe the Cylons promised to line his pockets with cubits."

"And where the hell is he going to spend it?" interjected Lance Corporal Auric as he too hopped over the fallen tree. "Last I could tell everything was being blasted to neat little bits under mushroom clouds."

"Hardly 'neat'," countered Bowman as he continued to follow behind the figure that until recently many had simply dismissed as a figment of their midnight imaginations. "Fallout will be raining down over this area for weeks; we're going to need heavy doses of anti-radiation meds just to survive."

"I hate needles," muttered Auric absently.

"You'd hate a slow death from radiation sickness even more," replied Sims evenly. "So where do you think this guy is leading us?"

"Got me," shrugged Bowman.

"I thought you were the 'expert'," interjected Chaffey derisively.

"Shut up, Chaffey," snapped Bowman flatly.

"Aye, _Corporal_."

Shaking his head, Bowman found himself wishing he had a good reason for Captain Gaines to rotate Chaffey to the rear of the formation. Nevertheless, he did admit, if only to himself, there was a nugget of truth to what Chaffey had been saying; they had no clue where the 'Ghost', whose name was apparently Kieran Marius, was leading them.

Indeed, it had been a rather surprising act of faith on the Captain's part to allow Marius to take point and lead the surviving Marines deeper into Serenity Valley.

But then Bowman thought about it; in context with all the other unusual and unsettling turns the last few days had thrown their way, letting a veritable phantom lead them through unknown territory wasn't any crazier than anything else that had transpired.

Better yet, beyond faith, now that Marius was in the lead, they _were_ making much better time.

Glancing back, Bowman could see the line of Marines, as well as the few stranded civilian Police and EMT's who were tagging along, make their way steadily up the rise behind him.

The surrounding jungle; and to his eyes, that's literally what it had become, a _jungle_; was thick with trees and underbrush. The overhead canopy of leaves and branches would provide a good measure of protection from detection overhead; the heat being retained underneath the canopy would play havoc with IR, at least until the sun fell again.

Looking back up ahead, Bowman's heart skipped a beat when he realized he'd lost sight of the Ghost, Marius, in the underbrush ahead.

Quickening his step, Bowman looked about frantically as he realized he was quickly coming up to the crest of the small hill they'd spent the last hour steadily climbing.

"You might want to stop there, Corporal Bowman," came a gruff voice.

Turning, Bowman realized he'd very nearly rushed past Marius, the old man simply cradling his rifle as he stood beside a tree.

"Unless of course you'd like to be blown in half."

The almost mischievous grin on the old man's weathered face led Bowman to look down at his feet. Sure enough, another thin tripwire ran across the path.

Without missing a beat, Marius reached down and slid the detonator safety pin back into place on yet another large charge of G-Four explosive tied to the tree trunk.

"I wish you would stop doing that," muttered Bowman as he let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"And miss the look on your face?" chuckled Marius.

Before Bowman could respond, either with words or a swift butt stroke to the old man's face, he couldn't be sure which would be more appropriate at the moment, Bowman watched as Marius stepped up to the crest of the ridge and motioned to another small hill on the opposite side of the shallow valley.

Without a word, Bowman looked out, and to his decided surprise, saw what appeared to be a town resting on the adjacent hill.

"What is that?" asked Bowman.

"I thought you were the 'expert'," muttered Marius with a grin.

Old as he was, Marius' hearing was apparently sharper than his own.

"Okay, you heard us talking, I'll be impressed later," replied Bowman derisively. "My question still stands though."

"That's the town of Serenity," replied Marius evenly. "At least it used to be."

Looking a little closer, Bowman saw that if it was a town, it hadn't been occupied as such in a very long time. Broken windows, peeling paint, crumbling walls, overgrown brush scattered throughout the narrow streets.

"Okay, and?"

"And _that_ is where we're heading."

Before Bowman could ask anything further, Marius started off down the hill into the small valley below. A few steps down, Marius stumbled and fell with a slight crash and string of curses.

Suppressing his impulse to laugh, Bowman made his way over to where Marius had gone down and found the old man lying flat on his back in a tangle of underbrush. Reaching out to Marius, intent on helping the old man back to his feet, Bowman was surprised when Marius literally smacked his outstretched hand away.

Simply shaking his head, Bowman left Marius to pick himself up off the jungle floor and instead reached over to grab hold of Marius' rifle.

"Don't you fraking touch her!" snapped Marius, enough venom in his voice that it literally startled Bowman.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said don't ever fraking touch Vera!" growled Marius as he practically jumped back to his feet, weapon cradled close to his chest.

"Vera?"

His angered indignation giving way, Marius suddenly looked rather self-conscious as he stood cradling the weapon as though it were an infant.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, looking down at how he was clutching the rifle. "Vera and I have been together a long time."

"You named your rifle Vera?" asked Bowman, smirking slightly.

"What, like you never named your weapon before?"

"Not since recruit training," replied Bowman. "At least, not since I regained access to _real_ women."

Scowling slightly, Marius turned and again began making his way off down the slope.

Not for the first time, Bowman half-wondered about just how many neurons were still firing in the old man's brain. True enough, if Marius was telling the truth about staying behind in Serenity Valley following the war, though the details of exactly how he'd managed to do so and why were still hazy at best, Bowman thought he should expect a little eccentricity.

But naming his weapon?

Shrugging it off, Bowman simply catalogued it away with all the other questions he knew would be addressed once Captain Gaines felt it appropriate.

As he followed Marius down into the valley, then back up the opposing hill…

…why was there always _another_ hill…

…Bowman began to surrender to the idea of just how exhausted he was, his feet feeling like two leaden weights as he finally made it to the crest of the hill and began making his way into the long-abandoned town of Serenity.

As much as he hated to do so, Bowman had to admit that although Marius was likely as crazy as the day was long, the old man was nevertheless in fantastic shape. Cresting the last ridge, Bowman was immediately presented with the most likely reason why.

While at a distance the former town of Serenity simply appeared to be a dilapidated series of abandoned storefronts and buildings on a hilltop, as he finally got to the top of the hill, it began to remind Bowman of just one thing; a fortress. Marius was in excellent shape because he'd apparently spent the better part of the last forty years transforming the area into a fully developed defensive position.

Laid out along the top of the hill was a series of fortified interlocking trenches with bunker emplacements and machine-gun nests at regular intervals, all of it assembled of heavy logs from the local timber covered over with layers of dirt and small brush to conceal them from overhead view.

Bowman hadn't even really realized he'd been gawking at the impressive assemblage of breastworks until Auric stepped up behind him.

"What the frak is all of that?" he muttered through gasping breaths.

"A fortified position," replied Bowman flatly as he watched Marius pause on the far side of the trench network.

"Well are you just going to stand there or are you going to get inside the fraking perimeter?" barked Marius as he waved Bowman and Auric forward.

"Just wanted to make sure I didn't snag any more trip wires," replied Bowman.

Snorting a bit, Marius simply waved Bowman and the rest of the Marines in.

Over the next half hour, the remainder of the meandering line of exhausted Marines, Police and EMT's made their way in through the unexpected battlements. As they filed in, each of them seemed equal parts exhausted and curiously amazed as they methodically assembled in what was apparently the old town square.

Stepping out into the center of the large open area at the center of Serenity, Captain Gaines, herself still fighting to get her wind back, slowly looked around at the assemblage.

"Team leaders, get me head counts," she called, gently tugging at the front of her ballistic vest to get a bit more airflow underneath.

After several minutes, the ragged team leaders assembled around Captain Gaines and reported that no one had apparently been lost during what was becoming euphemistically known as their 'little nature walk'.

"All right, Captain, what's next?" asked Bowman as he knelt down, reflexively checking the action of his weapon to make sure it was clear of fouling.

Although the look on her face indicated she was somewhat annoyed that Bowman had presumed to ask such a question so openly in front of the other assembled NCO's, she nevertheless pulled out her map and laid it out on the ground.

"Near as I can tell we've made just about thirty clicks since we left the boneyard," she began as she absently traced their approximate route on the map.

"Thirty-two, Captain," chimed in Marius, his voice cutting in so unexpectedly that everyone reacted as though he'd materialized out of thin air.

"Thank you, thirty-_two_ clicks," amended Gaines, her tone somewhat annoyed. "Now, we'll hold here for five hours, start off again around midnight. Team leaders, put your people on a fifty percent watch, trade out in two-and-a-half hours. Those not on watch are to get some chow and some rest. Have the docs also check your people for dehydration and foot injuries, ask the civilian EMT's to help with that too."

With a low murmur of acknowledgements, the assembled team leaders filtered back out to their people to pass on the Captain's orders.

As she herself settled in against a small, circular brick wall, apparently a long-since dried-up central cistern, Captain Gaines let out a long, tired sigh. Opening her eyes, fighting against the urge to simply nod off to sleep, Gaines slowly looked up to see Marius standing there, looking down at her, arms crossed in front of him.

"Can I help you, Mr. Marius?" she sighed as she picked back up the map and began looking it over.

"Corporal Marius," he corrected evenly.

"It can always become Prisoner Marius if you keep up that tone," countered Gaines as she glared back up at the old man. "One of those cops that escaped with us is bound to still have a set of cuffs on them."

"I'm just wondering where it is you plan to go, Captain?" replied Marius, conspicuously ignoring the Captain's none-too-veiled threat.

"I plan to keep moving," said Gaines, her tone softening somewhat as she continued to look up at the old man. "For now, you are welcome to stay with us."

"I have no intention of running from the Toasters, Captain," he answered flatly, looking over at the setting sun on the horizon. "This is my home, and I'm not going to just surrender it."

"Suit yourself," shrugged Gaines, frankly too tired to argue with what she still viewed as likely little more than a criminal. "But I am curious what you plan to do when the Cylons _do_ show up."

"I intend to stand and fight," answered Marius as he looked back over at her. "If you're intent on running, maybe I can slow them down for you."

At that, Gaines let out a laugh.

"You really think you'll be able to slow down the Cylons?" she chuckled.

With the memory of their own near-slaughter down at the airfield still fresh in her mind, Gaines made no attempt to hide her doubts that the old man would last long alone, especially against what were clearly a new, far more lethal model of Centurion than those he may have fought during the war.

"And I suppose you think that just because you dug a bunch of fighting holes you'll be able to hold out against a full-on Cylon attack?" asked Gaines, her fatigue overriding her ability to mask her derisiveness.

"No, I was actually counting on the fact that I've had a lot more experience fighting them than you do," replied Marius with a smirk. "Fighting positions are just a bonus."

"And just why exactly did you put all that together?" asked Gaines flatly as she loosened her gear a bit, intent on trying to get some rest.

"I guess I just always had a feeling the Cylons would be coming back," shrugged Marius. "Peace treaty aside, the war was never really over for them; Toasters hate us too much for making them our slaves to simply leave us alone."

Her eyes heavy with fatigue, Gaines closed them, intent on simply ignoring Marius long enough to drift off.

"Do you mind if I show you something, Captain?" said Marius as he reached out towards Gaines.

For a moment, Gaines simply opened her eyes and sat staring at his offered hand. At last resigning herself that it might be the only way to shut the old man up, she took hold of his hand. Pulling the Captain to her feet, Marius motioned for her to follow.

As they began to move off through the old town square, Gaines caught sight of Bowman as the Marine sat sipping generously from his canteen.

Not sure of what it was Marius intended, and not in any way truly trusting what was likely a very senile old man, Gaines motioned for Bowman to join them.

Slipping the canteen back into its carrier, Bowman hopped, somewhat, up to his feet and jogged over next to Gaines.

"Yes, Captain?" he asked as he stepped up.

"Just stay close," she whispered as she eyed Marius' back.

Looking back over his shoulder, it was clear that Marius had heard, but nevertheless he continued to lead them off towards one side of the square. As it became clear which building Marius was leading them towards, Bowman reached up and pointed.

"Looks like an old temple, Captain," he noted.

"So it would seem," sighed Gaines, herself beginning to wonder why she had even bothered to follow Marius in the first place. "So help me if he wants us to go in and pray for salvation from the Cylons, I'm gonna kill him."

Chuckling slightly, Bowman continued to follow Gaines as Marius stepped inside.

Reaching the entryway, Bowman and Gaines both squinted a bit, trying to make out Marius in the low light of the temple interior.

"Over here," he called, motioning for them to continue following as he opened another doorway onto a stairwell.

Tired, but nevertheless close behind, Bowman and Gaines started up the stairs. After a few minutes of climbing, Bowman feeling like his feet were even more leaden than before, they reached the upper landing and found themselves in a small tower overlooking the entire abandoned settlement.

While Bowman had certainly been impressed by the fortifications set up by Marius, now that he had a veritable bird's eye view of the entire network, he couldn't help but let out a long whistle.

The fortifications didn't just border the old town, they literally surrounded it with three distinct trench lines, log reinforced parapets and compacted dirt embankments, even some fallback positions. The sand bag fortified bunkers set up along the trenches had a clear kill zones cut into the surrounding slopes giving perfect, interlocking fields of fire for any approaching forces; all of it had been painstakingly assembled as though by a unit from the Colonial Corps of Engineers…

Or by a crazy old man with nothing better to do over the last four decades…

And all of it meticulously laid out to encircle the abandoned hilltop town of Serenity. In no uncertain terms, it was a perfect defensible position.

Looking over at Captain Gaines, Bowman could see that if she was impressed, she was hiding it very well.

"Looks like you've been very busy, Corporal Marius," said Gaines evenly as she stepped up and looked out over the area. "But what exactly am I up here to see?"

"Well, Captain, I just wanted to give you some food for thought, away from the ears of your people," sighed Marius as he looked out across the Serenity Valley. "You could continue pushing deeper into Serenity Valley, but that still leaves you with the question of where you ultimately plan on going. Nearest settlement beyond the Hera Mountains is over four-hundred kilometers, and likely a pile of radioactive rubble by now."

"I plan to hide, take to the hills, keep my people alive and moving until…"

Suddenly, Captain Gaines' voice just stopped. She'd been about to say something about waiting until rescue came. Trouble was, she had absolutely no reason to believe anyone _would_ come to their rescue.

If indeed there still was anyone else left alive at all.

"I'm just going to keep my people alive."

Surprisingly, Marius laughed.

"Alive," he began, pointing down at the tired groups filtering out around the town square for better cover. "You call that alive? They're already dead, they just don't know it yet."

"Just what do you expect right now, Marius?" snapped Gaines, snatching up a handful of the old man's uniform lapel a moment before she had a chance to think better of the act. "I have a duty to keep these people alive, and that's what I intend to do, do you hear me?"

For a moment, Marius simply stood there, an almost bemused grin on his face as he looked down into the face of Captain Gaines. Flustered, realizing quite fully that her best threat hadn't even really registered as such in Marius' mind, Captain Gaines let go of Marius' uniform, turned away and started off towards the stairs.

"Sometimes I stand up here in this tower and it's hard for me to believe it's been forty years now," began Marius, his tone growing almost nostalgic as he watched the sun dip below the horizon.

"Forty years since what?" sighed Gaines, half turning back to face Marius.

"Corporal Bowman here knows, don't you Bowman?"

Suddenly caught in the center of an exchange to which he'd merely been content to remain a silent bystander, Bowman looked from Gaines to Marius and back again.

"The Battle of Serenity Valley, Captain," said Bowman finally.

Taking a deep breath, Gaines resigned herself to the apparent fact that no matter what she did, no matter what she tried, Marius wasn't simply going to let her be until she'd given whatever it was he had to say her full attention.

"Just who exactly are you, Marius, and don't give me any more runaround, I _want_ to know," snapped Gaines.

"I'm exactly who I said I am, Captain," began Marius as he turned and looked back over to her. "My name is Kieran Marius; I was born on Leonis in the township of Treston. I enlisted in the Colonial Marines at age seventeen, promoted to Corporal when I was nineteen, three weeks before Command ordered my unit to put to ground on this lovely little stretch of nowhere."

With that Marius took a moment to read Captain Gaines' face.

Attentive, but apparently unimpressed, she merely stood watching him.

Turning back to look out at the abandoned town below, Marius took a deep breath and continued.

"When we first arrived, this town had maybe five hundred people. We told them the Cylons had landed a force out there just past the Hera range and that it was coming this way, but they refused to leave."

He paused.

"Have you ever seen two divisions of Centurions?" asked Marius. "No, of course you haven't. Probably not even a picture. But let me tell you there is nothing that will scare you to the fraking bone nearly so much as seeing so many of those pulsating red eyes staring back at you from the darkness; endless, _soulless_, like staring into the mouth of hell."

Pausing, Marius took in a deep breath.

"But the people of this town _still_ refused to leave," continued Marius a moment later, turning to look back at the Captain over his shoulder. "And do you know why, Captain?"

Genuinely curious, Captain Gaines simply shook her head 'no' in response.

"They refused to leave because this was their home, this was where their parents were buried, where their children had been born, and they weren't about to just cede it to the Cylons."

"What happened to them?" asked Bowman, his interest piqued at hearing an aspect of the battle he'd never read about before; none of the books he'd read on the subject had even mentioned a town.

"Most of the men in the town joined us out on the line, farmers with pitchforks really," continued Marius. "We bunkered down the women and children as best we could here in the center of town, but the Cylon just kept coming and coming, tearing holes through our lines…"

Pausing, Marius took a deep breath, his gaze lost on the horizon.

"Forty years later, I can still hear them screaming…"

Taking another breath, Marius seemed to shake off the thought as he continued.

"After five weeks, Command ordered us to abandon the position, to fall back, but we couldn't."

"Why not?" asked Gaines.

"Because the Cylons had cut them off, Captain," interjected Bowman.

"No, it was because the townspeople _still_ refused to leave this place," replied Marius, himself shaking his head in disbelief, even after forty years. "They preferred to die, as a community, than leave their homes. So our CO, the chain of command had been whittled down to only a Gunny by then, was left with two choices; leave the civilians to die, or continue to hold the position."

"And you stayed," interjected Bowman.

"That's right, Gunny Shriver made her decision, just like the townspeople made theirs," said Marius. "We would stand, and we would continue the fight."

"But why?" snapped Captain Gaines flatly. "If these people were so intent on dying, why did you stay?"

Turning back to face Gaines, even in the fading light, it was easy to see the earnest look on Marius' face, an earnestness that cut through all else.

"Because that's what Marines do, Captain," he said evenly. "Marines make a stand, and Marines fight."

For a moment, that statement hung over the three of them, sinking in as surely as the sun had sunk beyond the distant horizon.

Silently, Captain Gaines stepped up to the railing and looked down into the compound below.

"So you're saying I should keep my people here?" muttered Gaines. "You're saying we should make our stand?"

"That's precisely what I am saying, Captain," replied Marius evenly. "You can keep running off into the hills, but plain fact is that eventually you and your people will run out of anti-radiation meds. One by one, they'll get sick, grow weak and die, lost in the wilderness. That is, unless the Cylons catch up to you first."

Looking over at Marius, Gaines plainly did not like the image the old Marine was painting for her.

"What's to keep the Cylons from simply dropping a nuke on this place and calling it a day?" she asked simply.

"What's to keep the Cylons from simply carpet bombing this _entire valley_ with nukes?" countered Marius. "Truth is, not a damned thing."

Her expression contorting somewhat as she looked at Marius, clearly not heartened by his statement, Gaines nevertheless continued to listen to the old veteran.

"But, I'm willing to bet the Cylons won't do that," continued Marius as he motioned with his head off in the direction of the now-abandoned boneyard. "You and your people humiliated them back there at the depot. They thought they had you dead to rights, yet you managed to fight your way out. They won't forgive that."

"Forgive?" huffed Bowman. "What's to forgive, they're machines?"

"Don't fool yourself, Corporal Bowman," replied Marius evenly. "Machines or not, the Cylons know how to hate; they learned it from humanity. And believe me, they learned that lesson very well."

"How do you know that?" asked Bowman, his tone losing a bit of its acerbic edge.

Reaching down, Marius slowly unsheathed a long, shiny blade and held it up for Bowman and Gaines to see.

"A Cylon sword," muttered Gaines as Marius slowly handed it to her.

"Exactly," muttered Marius. "What the hell use would a Cylon have for a sword when there's explosives, rifles, submachine guns, all sorts of more effective and efficient ways to kill people?"

"Close quarters combat?" offered Bowman as Gaines slowly handed the sword back to Marius.

"You'd think that," replied Marius, tilting his head slightly as he slid the blade back into its sheath. "But, you'd be wrong; it's so they can kill up close, so close that they can wrap their hands around their victim's neck and slowly, painfully gut the poor bastard neck to navel."

"Aren't you being a bit dramatic?" asked Gaines, letting out a long sigh.

"I've seen it with my own eyes," replied Marius flatly. "They _enjoy_ being able to look into the person's eyes as the life slips away from them; killing us is more than war, it's about revenge. The more your resist them, the more they want you to suffer when they finally hunt you down."

Taking a deep breath, Gaines looked back down into the compound below, knowing a decision needed to be made.

Marius was right, they didn't have the radiation meds they'd need to survive, the supply they had would run out long before they made it to any other towns or cities. And after the meds ran out, a slow, painful, wasting death awaited them.

Or they could wait here, wait for the Cylons to attack, an attack all but certain to hit them before long and with sufficient force to accomplish the slaughter forestalled at the airfield.

Die slowly in the wilderness, or violently here? Did it matter really, either way dead was dead.

With that last thought, Gaines felt a slow ember build into a flame within her.

* * *

As Captain Gaines and Corporal Bowman stepped out of the old temple, Gaines began making her way across the town square, her mind settled and resolute.

"Team Leaders up!" shouted Gaines as she made her way back towards the old cistern.

Instantly, the call for Teams Leaders to assemble echoed out through the ranks, several figures emerging from the thickening darkness of night to gather around the Captain and Bowman.

Taking a deep breath, Captain Gaines gently kicked a small stone on the ground and then looked out at the assemblage.

"Okay people, listen up," she sighed, looking out at the faces around her. "Change of plans, we're not running; we're going to man-up the defensive works here and hold this position."

As she looked out at her Team Leaders, Gaines expected some protest, certainly hesitation, but what she had not expected was the looks of determination that instead took hold, a few of the Team Leaders even letting out murmurs of approval.

"Let's make them pay for the Colonies, Captain," muttered Corporal Candor, the highest ranking individual from the Reservists in their group. "And for the people we've already lost."

Another low rumble of murmured approvals roiled through the group.

"First thing we need to do is inventory what we have," continued Gaines, heartened by the approval expressed by her Marines. "Have your people go through their gear, get me full lists on supplies; I want ammo, food, weapons, bandages, even extra pairs of socks, _everything_. We'll redistribute where needed."

Taking a steadying breath, she continued to search the assembled faces around her for signs of uncertainty and found none.

"Now, is there anything else we need to consider?" asked Gaines.

"Comm, Captain," offered Bowman as he held up his squad wireless set. "My batteries are already drained, most of my squad is also, or very near."

"Since we have no spare batteries and no charger, we'll have to just work without them," replied Gaines.

"Moot point anyway, Captain," chimed in Lance Corporal Vallero, the Marine team's wireless operator. "Cylons have begun flooding the area with interference; the PRC-one-ninety can cut through it, but the squad sets are useless."

"Good to know," sighed Gaines as she switched off her own set in mild disgust and then turned back to the assembled team leaders. "So we'll be counting on hand and arm signals."

"What about nighttime, Captain?" asked Corporal Lenore. "Should we use flashlight signals?"

"Absolutely not," replied Gaines flatly as she glanced over at Lenore. "Cylons already have IR, but let's not make it easy for them to pinpoint our positions by shining lights around the perimeter."

"Understood, Captain," sighed Lenore.

"If I may, Captain, these might be a bit more useful," interjected Marius as he stepped up holding a couple portable field phones and a spool of comm wire.

Genuinely surprised, Gaines took the proffered equipment from Marius.

"Don't suppose you have any more of these hanging around?" asked Gaines lightly.

"I might have a few more toys stashed away around here," replied Marius with a smirk.

* * *

As Captain Gaines, Corporal Bowman and the small entourage of Team Leaders stepped down through the entryway into the old temple basement, Corporal Bowman glanced back over his shoulder, and sincerely wished he had a picture of Captain Gaines' expression. For that matter, he would have like to have pictures of the faces of any of the Teams Leaders standing there in the entryway.

With the overhead lights in the basement flickering to life, powered by a portable generator, the old Marine began methodically walking along the narrow paths set between racks, pulling tarps down from over shelves to reveal, well, just about everything a Marine ground force needed to man the trenches dug around the hilltop village.

Row after row of old war vintage infantry rifles, light machine guns, boxes of ammunition, field phones, dehydrated rations, even a couple of mortars and a small stash of unguided anti-armor rockets.

"Where the frak did you get all of this equipment?" burst Gaines as she stepped down the last few stairs and began slowly making her way through the cache.

"Some of it's left over from the war," began Marius as he pulled the last tarp from over top of a couple heavy crew served machine guns. "The rest, well, let's just say I _acquired_ it later."

Gaines cast a sideways glance back over at Marius.

"You 'acquired' it?"

"What, you don't think I've been spooking your sentries over the last forty years just for fun do you?"

"But how the hell did you manage to sneak this much equipment off the depot without anyone noticing?" shot back Corporal Lenore.

"It took a bit of time," replied Marius with a grin. "Of course, I also had a couple of small tunnels that ran under the fence line, those helped a bit in getting some of the heavier gear out."

"At this point, I'm not about to start giving a frak how he got this stuff out here," began Gaines as she continued to mentally catalogue the stockpile. "What matters is that it's here and gives us a chance to really hit back hard when the Cylons attack."

As she opened up a sealed container and found several sets of heavy body armor, including the reinforced ceramic trauma plates, Gaines turned around just in time to have Marius hand her a clipboard with an apparent manifest of the sizeable basement cache.

"We get out of this Corporal Marius, I just might recommend you for a retroactive promotion to Gunnery Sergeant," she muttered as she began going over the hand written manifest. "Get you some back-pay for all your efforts."

Stifling a small chuckle, Marius stepped off along the rows of weapons as Gaines stepped back over to her still gawking Team Leaders.

Looking up at them, she scanned their faces for a hint of wavering, the slightest indication of trepidation, and found none.

"Okay, people, we have work to do," she said evenly.

* * *

******Warstar _Galactica  
_****Near Emergency Fleet Rally Point 279NW  
**

"Third jump complete, Commander," called Major Tyra Burke as she moved in around from the far side of the plot table.

"Very well, begin DRADIS sweep," replied Commander Sean Kelso evenly, his eyes already intently watching the screens overhead.

The first two jumps back into Colonial territory had gone well, which is to say they had not run into any enemy contacts.

Whether that should have concerned or comforted him, Sean Kelso wasn't quite sure.

What didn't comfort him was the fact that while they hadn't had any contact with the Cylons, they also had not managed to link up with any other surviving Colonial units either, military or civilian.

In a lot of ways, Commander Sean Kelso accepted that he was learning as he went, acting quite literally by asking himself what he _should_ be doing, not making those decisions on the seemingly instinctual level most line officers seemed to.

Looking away from the DRADIS for a moment, Kelso looked out at the faces around the CIC. If they had any real doubts about his ability to command, he couldn't read it in their expressions. One thing that was clear, however, was that each and every one of them was on edge.

It was at that moment that the klaxon alarm began reverberating through the bridge.

"DRADIS contact!" shouted Lieutenant Cortez. "Bearing zero-three-four carom two-zero, distance fifteen thousand kilometers!"

Major Burke instantly snatched up the handset on her side of the plot table.

"All hands, prepare for combat maneuvering."

"Number and type of contacts, Mr. Cortez," called Commander Kelso as his eyes focused in on the DRADIS display.

"Performing IFF now, Commander," answered Cortez.

"That's a large fraking signature, Commander," whispered Burke. "Could be a Cylon Basestar."

"By the gods, I hope you're wrong, Major," muttered Kelso, his eyes never leaving the unknown contact on the screen overhead. "We don't have the ammo to go toe-to-toe with a Basestar right now."

Just then, the icon on DRADIS blossomed with several smaller signatures.

"Cylon Raiders!" burst Major Burke, snatching up the handset on her side of the plot table. "Prepare full counter-battery, point target engagement! Prepare to launch alert fighters!"

"No, wait!" shouted Cortez. "I'm getting Colonial transponders from the new contacts."

Looking up at the DRADIS, Kelso noted that the icons did indeed have Colonial designators attached to them.

"Survivors?" muttered Burke.

"Maybe," replied Kelso as he watched and pondered the myriad of signals closing in.

None of the communiqués he'd read had indicated the Cylons were using Colonial transponders to deceive the fleet; why bother when they were apparently and quite effectively able to simply hack into the fleet's computers and shut them down?

"Hold the alert fighters in the tubes, Major," said Kelso as he watched DRADIS. "Petty Officer Harris, open a wireless channel and send those ships a hostile challenge."

"This is the Colonial Warstar _Galactica_, identify yourselves immediately or you will be fired upon," stated Petty Officer Harris a she pressed the headset tighter over hear ear.

Almost instantly, crackling static began filtering through the speakers overhead, at last giving way to an audibly tired voice.

"_This is Lieutenant Meloni of the Battlestar _Heracles._ Thank the gods you're here, _Galactica."

Snatching up the handset on his side of the plot table, Kelso glanced over to Harris and motioned for her to pipe the wireless feed over to him.

"Lieutenant Meloni, this is _Galactica_-Actual; what is your current status?"

"_Be advised, _Galactica_-Actual, we have twelve Vipers out here that are squash-ammo and nearing bingo-fuel, request immediate clearance for landing_."

"Permission granted," replied Kelso, holding his hand over the mic for a moment. "Harris?"

"Sir?"

"Get on the horn down to Chief Copeland and advise her to make a ready deck for twelve incoming aircraft."

"Aye, sir."

"Lieutenant Meloni, this is _Galactica_-Actual, you are cleared for approach to the Starboard pod. As soon as you are aboard and have secured your ship, report to me directly in CIC."

"_Understood _Galactica_-Actual_," replied Meloni.

Hanging up the handset, Kelso returned his attention to DRADIS, watching intently as the twelve Vipers lined up for landing.

"Lieutenant Cortez, have you been able to definitively identify the larger DRADIS signature?" asked Kelso as he focused his attention back in on the large unknown icon.

"There's a lot of interference out there, Commander," began Cortez evenly. "Looks like there's a lot of clutter and debris floating about, I've been trying to adjust DRADIS to get a clearer picture."

"What kind of debris, Lieutenant?" asked Burke as she stepped over towards Cortez over at the Operations console.

"From the looks of it the remains of two, possibly three other moderate size ships, Major," continued Cortez as he continued to make adjustments to DRADIS. "There's a lot of background radiation, if they are the remains of other ships, they must have been hit by nukes."

"Can you cut through the radiation?" asked Kelso.

"Trying to now, Commander," replied Cortez as he continued to adjust controls on his console. "But there's only so much of this hash we're going to be able to slice through."

As he continued to watch DRADIS, Kelso was surprised when another signature icon suddenly appeared on the screen.

"Lieutenant Cortez?" snapped Kelso.

"Negative on any other contacts, Commander," replied Cortez evenly. "I've managed to isolate another large signature within the debris field."

"Can you identify them yet, Lieutenant?"

"I'm not picking up any transponders but the mass reading and DRADIS signature of the larger contact is consistent with a Battlestar; it could be the _Heracles_. The smaller signature might be a Combatstar or Escort, but without a transponder I can't confirm the identity of either. In any event, neither is giving off any significant energy signatures, they both appear to be powerless and adrift."

"Shall we close range with the contacts, sir?" asked Major Burke as she stepped back over beside Kelso.

"Not yet, Major, let's wait until Lieutenant Meloni has reported in," muttered Kelso evenly as he continued to watch the two hovering signatures on DRADIS.

"There could be survivors still aboard, sir, supplies."

"And if there are, we'll do everything we can to retrieve them, but my first duty is the safety of _this_ ship, and I'm not too keen on the idea of stepping into a Cylon ambush until I've heard the Lieutenant's report on what happened out there."

"Understood, Commander."

Within minutes, the main entry hatch to CIC opened as his CAG, Major Culver and another officer in a flight suit, presumably Lieutenant Meloni, stepped in and made their way over to the plot table. Visibly tired, his hair matted with sweat, the pilot nevertheless stepped up to Kelso, came to attention, and rendered a smart salute.

"Lieutenant Alistair Meloni, Battlestar _Heracles_, reporting as ordered, sir."

"At ease, Lieutenant," replied a somewhat bemused Commander Kelso, silently unsure he would ever get used to such rigid formality, in spite of his rank. "First things first, Lieutenant; are you and your people okay?"

"About as good as could be expected under the circumstances, Commander," replied Meloni evenly.

"While I wish I could say you and your pilots have earned a little down time, I'm afraid I can't," began Kelso evenly as he motioned the pilot closer to the plot table. "Right now, we're running short of both time and pilots."

"All we need is some fuel, some ammo, maybe a bit of chow, and we'll be ready to get back into the fight, sir," answered Meloni evenly.

Kelso couldn't help but smile at the Lieutenant's bravado.

"Well, Lieutenant, since I don't have time to wait for the formal written report, why don't you give me the short story on what happened here," sighed Kelso as he pointed up towards the two icons on DRADIS.

"We, that is the _Heracles_ and her battlegroup, were assigned as a reserve force for Admiral Nagala's counterattack near Virgon," began Meloni as he leaned in over the overlay on the plot table and pointed to Virgon colony on the chart.

"At first it seemed like it would be a fairly straightforward engagement; four enemy Baseships holding a high orbital position versus five Battlestar groups, with our group in reserve. As Admiral Nagala ordered her main force to engage, the Cylons deployed their Raiders en masse. And that's when the whole situation just turned into a nightmare."

"What do you mean, Lieutenant?" asked Kelso pointedly.

"Tactical feeds, communications, power, everything just _failed_ on all the ships of the main force at the same time," continued Meloni, looking up at Kelso, his eyes looking more tired than before. "And then six more Baseships moved in from the far side of the planet…"

Pausing to take a deep breath, Meloni held the Commander's gaze intently.

"They never even had a chance, Commander," sighed Meloni, his shoulders dropping a bit. "It wasn't a battle, it was a slaughter; not a single ship managed to get of a shot before the Raiders swarmed in over them and began launching nuke after nuke. Five entire Battlestar groups, their airwings, all those people, _gone_ in less than seven minutes."

"But how did the _Heracles_ and her group escape?" asked Burke.

"With all due respect, Major, Commander Dannel wasn't a fool, she saw the writing on the wall when Admiral Nagala's forces lost power," replied Lieutenant Meloni somewhat defensively. "She ordered a retreat, made a short jump out to this rally point in order to try and contact any other surviving units."

"What happened next?" asked Kelso.

"The Cylons found us first, sir," replied Meloni evenly. "About a dozen Raiders jumped in and attacked. Commander Dannel had already ordered the shipboard network shut down, but the work was only partially complete when the Cylons arrived. Main and defensive weapons were lost instantly. Ready-fighters were launched, but the Cylons had jumped in really close to the formation, cutting our ability to react. We'd barely cleared the tubes when the raiders hit the _Heracles_ with three, maybe four nukes."

"But if our Vipers at Virgon were shut-down by the Cylons, how did _your_ Vipers avoid being shut-down as well?" asked Major Culver.

"Can't honestly say, sir," replied Meloni with a slight shrug, chewing on his lip slightly as he paused to think over the Major's question. "I suppose it could be there was too much radiation interference from the nukes, or maybe it's because we were flying Mark Sixes, not the Sevens."

"But why are you flying Mark Sixes?" asked Major Burke. "I thought those had already been rotated out of fleet service."

"Active fleet service, ma'am," began Meloni as he reached up and pointed at the squadron patch on his shoulder. "We're a reserve unit, we were aboard the _Heracles_ for a training deployment exercise when the attack began."

"And Commander Dannel placed your squadron as ready squadron?" asked Major Culver. "No offense to you Lieutenant, but why didn't she place one of her own active squadrons at the ready?"

"I went through OCS with Tasha Dannel," interjected Kelso thoughtfully. "She was good officer, a very pragmatic thinker. Knowing her, Dannel was hedging her bets; even if she didn't know exactly why, she likely figured out that there was something wrong with the Mark Sevens, so having the Mark Sixes in the air first gave her a chance to fight off an attack."

"Like I said, sir," muttered Meloni. "She was a smart woman. It's just too bad it ended up not making much of a difference."

"What do you mean, Lieutenant?"

"Most of our fighters, both Mark Six and Mark Seven were caught on the deck when the Cylons launched their nukes," continued Meloni, shaking his head slightly. "Only fifteen of us had time to clear the tubes and start maneuvering before the Cylons concentrated on the flight pods themselves. A lot of ships were blasted to pieces right as they were clearing the tubes."

"But if the _Heracles_ was that bad off, why didn't the Cylons take you out as well, Lieutenant?" asked Burke evenly.

"After they crippled the _Heracles_, the Cylons split off and to take down her escorts," replied Meloni. "_Orestias_ went up first, not so much as a Raptor got away, then they hit the _Syros_, one nuke right up one of the engine pods. Next they concentrated their attack on the _Anhur_, but we managed to gain the upper hand on them by then."

"So you managed to destroy all of the Raiders?" asked Major Culver.

"Every last mother-frakin' one," growled Meloni, quickly tacking on a more respectful 'sir' a moment later.

Taking a deep breath, Meloni paused as he ran a hand through his matted hair.

"What we didn't know was that while we were busy knocking out the Raiders, the Cylons jumped a couple of more ships in behind us," continued Meloni.

"More Raiders?"

"No, Commander, these were larger, not fighters, some sort of troop transports," replied Meloni. "They landed on the _Heracles_' Port flight pod and deployed a boarding party of Centurions. We took out the transports but they'd already unloaded their Centurions; bastards fought their way aboard."

"Do you know if they're still aboard?" asked Kelso pointedly.

"Not for certain, no sir," replied Meloni. "We received only intermittent wireless calls after they boarded her, mostly emergency handsets, but I think the Marines managed to isolate them."

"What about the _Heracles_ herself, how much damage did she sustain?" asked Kelso as he glanced up at DRADIS. "Any chance that there are any survivors aboard?"

"She took some heavy damage, Commander, stem to stern," answered Meloni as he too looked up to the DRADIS screen. "Engineering sections are all but ripped clear from the hull, and the Starboard pod was almost completely smashed, but she _was_ at Action Stations when the Cylons jumped in, so most of the airtight hatches should have been sealed. There could be survivors scattered throughout the center sections."

His eyes still intently locked on the icons on DRADIS, Kelso took another deep breath.

"What about the _Anhur_, you said you managed to destroy the Raiders before they could take her out, correct?" asked Major Burke as she pointed up to the second icon.

"She still took some pretty serious hits, Major, I'd say she's in about as bad of shape as the _Heracles_."

Drumming his fingers on the plot table, Kelso continued to look at DRADIS, his eyes never leaving the two icons.

"I need to get a better idea of how much damage they've sustained," he said evenly. "Major Culver, I want a Raptor and two Vipers, two of the Mark Sixes, prepped and ready for launch immediately. I'm going to go over and take a look."

"Understood, Commander," replied Culver evenly. "But, with all due respect, do you think it's a wise idea for you to go out there yourself? The Cylons might come looking for their missing Raiders."

"I don't think so, Major," replied Kelso evenly. "Any report they'd have sent off regarding the _Heracles_ and her group would have indicated the ships was either dead or dying. Since Vipers don't have FLT ability, they'd likely just leave them out here to run out of fuel; we're too far away from any outposts for the Cylons to consider them a continuing threat."

Motioning for Major Culver and Lieutenant Meloni to follow, Kelso turned and began heading out of CIC.

"Commander, can I speak with you for a moment?" asked Burke flatly as she quickly stepped up behind Kelso.

Looking back over at his XO, Kelso waved Culver and Meloni to go ahead and depart while he followed Burke towards a somewhat more isolated corner of the CIC.

As Burke motioned for a couple crewmen to step away, she turned and looked directly at Kelso.

"Sir, I'm afraid I must protest your taking part in this mission," she began flatly, keeping her voice low enough not to be overhead, but nevertheless adamant. "You are the Commanding Officer of this ship in a time of war; your place is here in CIC."

If ever Kelso needed a reminder that Burke was a true-to-life, by-the-book officer, this was that reminder.

"I'm the Commanding Officer, yes, but I'm also an engineer, Major," replied Kelso evenly. "Now, I understand your concerns, believe me, I _do_. But, I _need_ to go, I'm not about to put anyone else aboard this ship at risk unless I am personally certain there might be survivors over there. And the only way I'm going to be certain is by taking a look at the damage myself."

Major Burke seemed about to continue her protest, but instead merely relented with a nod.

"Good," replied Kelso with a slight grin. "Now, I'm leaving you in command. I want you to go ahead and start maneuvering the _Galactica_ in closer. At the very least, we might be able to obscure her a bit inside some of the ambient radiation and debris."

"Aye, sir."

"Now, in case I _am_ able to determine that survivors are likely aboard either ship, go ahead and start assembling medical and engineering teams, and a Marine security detail for possible boarding."

With that, Kelso reached over and gave her a slight pat on the shoulder, then turned and began making his way back towards the exit.

"Keep her together till I get back, Major," he called as he stepped through the hatch.

"Understood, Commander."

* * *

Commander Sean Kelso gently drummed his fingers against the side of the pilot's seat as he stood looking out past the Raptor's canopy.

"Sir, can you please stop doing that?" asked the pilot, Lieutenant Cetina.

Looking first down into the eyes of the Lieutenant Cetina, then somewhat self-consciously at his own fingers, Kelso smiled at her somewhat sheepishly.

"Sorry," he said simply, dropping his hand back down to his side as he looked back up past the canopy.

For a few moments, no one said anything else as the Raptor continued to navigate through the debris field.

"Sir, you might want to grab hold of that cargo strap behind you," said Cetina suddenly.

Kelso had been about to ask why, but had the urgency of his question overridden when Cetina suddenly pitched the Raptor's nose over to avoid a large chunk of debris. His hands barely grabbing hold in time, Sean Kelso nevertheless kept himself from being pitched across the small cabin of the Raptor.

"Thanks for the warning," he moaned as he pulled himself back to his feet.

"The Commander is welcome to have a seat, sir," said Cetina evenly as she maneuvered around another chunk, though far less abruptly.

"I think I'll do that," replied Kelso as he gently flexed his fingers, trying to get circulation back into his fingers.

Stepping up, Kelso slid down into the seat, adjusted the straps over his shoulders, and looked back out past the canopy in time to see another large section of a ship's hull. To be sure, Kelso could see that the debris field was getting thicker, which meant they must be getting closer to what remained of the Battlestar _Heracles_.

Based on the report from Lieutenant Meloni, Kelso had ordered the Raptor to survey the surviving sections of the battered Combatstar _Anhur_ first, primarily because the Cylons had managed to corral and isolate the smaller carrier away from the rest of the _Heracles_ battlegroup before dealing her a deathblow. Surveying the _Anhur_, it was clear she would never move again under her own power, the engineering sections were a hopeless wreck.

However, a good portion of the command and mid-hull sections as well as both of the flight pods were sufficiently intact that survivors were likely. While Major Burke was maneuvering the _Galactica_ in alongside the _Anhur_, Kelso ordered the Raptor around towards the remainder of _Heracles_' battlegroup.

While they had yet to close on the crippled Battlestar _Heracles_ herself, the sheer amount of debris the small craft was encountering left Kelso with dwindling hope of finding anything left intact from the two destroyers, _Orestias_ and _Syros_, the two of them having apparently given their full measure trying to fend off the Cylons and suffering the ultimate price for that persistence.

"Frak!" burst Lieutenant Cetina, the Raptor jarred by an impact, the sound of a dull thud echoing through the cabin.

Unaware as to the cause, Kelso's first instinct was to look down at the craft's instrumentation, and seeing nothing, Kelso felt his heart skip a beat, a few beats in fact, as he looked back up and saw the bloated, mangled form of a body in the charred, tattered remains of a Colonial uniform sprawled out prone across the canopy like some grotesque insect.

Shaking the control stick, Cetina grimaced as her actions dislodged the shattered body from the canopy, sending it hurtling back amid the debris. Looking over at her, Kelso could see the color draining from the young woman's face. Himself no less queasy for the experience, Kelso nevertheless reached over and took hold of Cetina's shoulder.

"You going to make it, Lieutenant?" he asked, tasting bile in his mouth even as he gulped down what he was certain was an urge to vomit.

Wordlessly, Cetina nodded her head, took a couple deep, steadying breaths, then set about maneuvering the Raptor around more debris.

Thankfully, no other bodies, at least not whole bodies, parts possibly, but not whole bodies, found themselves sprawled out across the canopy as the Raptor finally maneuvered inside the halo of debris that had been the _Orestias_ and _Syros_.

At last, against the infinite backdrop of stars, Kelso began to make out the outline of the _Heracles_. Spinning slowly along its long axis, the vessel had clearly sustained significant damage. At the aft end of the vessel, an entire sublight engine pod had been torn free, tumbling aimlessly amid the other debris. Large sections of the forward command hull had also been ripped open, the gentle spray of rapidly crystallizing water jetting into space from one of the ruptured storage tanks. Even harder to miss was the absence of one entire flight pod, the Port pod to be exact. While he couldn't be certain, Kelso guessed that the Cylon boarding party likely had something to do with the pod's conspicuous absences; a demolition charge on an ordnance pallet or along a fuel transfer line could have easily touched off an explosion large enough to wipe out the structure.

"Come in along the long axis, Lieutenant," said Kelso as he motioned out at the listing leviathan.

Following his direction, Cetina slipped the agile Raptor along the dorsal side of the vessel, moving forward from the stern towards the bow. Skimming along the veritable spine of the ship, Kelso's eyes scrutinized every visible inch of the hull, his hands reaching out to adjust the nose-mounted spotlight as it shone on the vessel's exterior.

As he watched the hull of the _Heracles_ race by below, Kelso worried he might miss something, so he reached over and motioned for Cetina to slow the Raptor's velocity. As she complied, Kelso looked out once more and was pleased when found what he'd been searching for; the main vent hatches for the main center sections of the vessel were still closed which meant the vessel's interior was still sealed.

As the hint of a smile began to crease his lips, Kelso motioned Cetina to now maneuver the Raptor down along one of the massive connection struts to the surviving flight pod. As she complied, Kelso kept a keen eye out for similar hatches along the top section of the Starboard pod. Again, they were still sealed.

From an engineer's perspective, so long as the ship's interior hatches had been closed, as they most certainly should have been with the ship at Action Stations, the chances for survivors aboard the _Heracles_ was high. Moreover, while they might be able to retrieve some parts and supplies from the _Anhur_, the chances of finding critical munitions, rations and other provisions in far greater quantities and with far easier access were better aboard the larger, more modern _Heracles_.

Reaching over, Kelso picked up a headset and slipped it in over his ears.

"Put me on the wireless, Lieutenant," he said simply as he continued to fiddle with the headset.

"You're on, sir."

"_Galactica_ this is Raptor Zero-Seven-Five," began Kelso as he held the mic steady in front of his lips.

"_This is _Galactica_, go ahead Zero-Seven-Five_," replied the voice of Major Burke over the wireless.

"Status of _Anhur_ recovery?"

"_We're still going compartment to compartment, Zero-Seven-Five_," sighed Burke. "_But we have begun taking aboard survivors and some equipment. Taking on the munitions could prove problematic, however._"

"Concentrate on the crew," replied Kelso evenly as he looked out past the canopy at the _Heracles_ below. "Viper and Raptor parts are also a priority, but don't waste time trying to access the primary or secondary ammo storage."

"_Aye, sir, any particular reason why_?"

"Simple; the _Anhur'_ systems are older, they require at least auxiliary power to be online in order to function the transfer cradle systems," replied Kelso evenly as he watched Cetina maneuver the Raptor in along the length of the flight pod. "The _Heracles_' systems are newer, when we link up we can attached a few exterior support umbilicals to provide enough power to get her transfer gear operating."

"_Understood, Zero-Seven-Five_," replied Burke dutifully.

"In the meantime, assemble a Marine boarding team aboard a few Raptors," continued Kelso as he watched Cetina almost instinctively maneuver the Raptor inside the upper flight deck towards one of the elevator pads to the service deck. "Launch them as soon as they are ready, we'll board the _Heracles_ and ascertain the status of the crew."

For a moment, there was no response from Burke. Moreover, Kelso thought he could guess why; Burke was likely on the verge of offering another protest to Kelso boarding the _Heracles_, understandable since they had no way of knowing for certain whether any of the Cylon boarding force were still aboard. But if the Major was indeed preparing a protest, she apparently decided against it.

"_Understood, Zero-Seven-Five, I'll advise as soon as the Raptors are en route to your location_."

* * *

******Battlestar _Pacifica  
_****Exact Location Unknown  
**

Former Operations Officer Theo Cullen sat gently shaking his head.

"I'm sorry, Commander, I guess I'm more out of practice than I thought," he sighed.

Reaching over, Adrian Kelso gave Cullen shoulder a gentle pat.

"Well, Theo, it could be worse," he smiled weakly. "We could have ended up somewhere where we no chance of correcting the mistake."

"But I should have accounted for the stellar drift, sir," continued Cullen. "It was a _stupid_ mistake."

"And like you said before, it's been years since you've plotted a jump," countered Kelso flatly. "Now, the question is, if you take the stellar drift into account this time, can you plot us another jump and get us to Leto's Twins?"

Looking up at Adrian Kelso, the former Commander could see the doubt in his old Tac Officer's eyes. As they stood there looking at one another, silent, Adrian Kelso gently nodded his head at Cullen.

"Yes, sir, I can," said Cullen evenly.

"Then get it done, Mr. Cullen."

Swallowing the apparent lump in his throat, Cullen picked up the chart and stepped away towards the upper gallery. As he watched him go, Adrian Kelso let out a long sigh, turned back, and found himself starring once again into the youthful eyes of Ensign Jinara Cole.

"Yes, I trust him," he said flatly, seeing the question in the young woman's eyes. "Second rule of command; people make mistakes. Third rule; know when it's appropriate to chastise for them and when not to."

"Shouldn't we at least verify his calculations with the other ships, maybe one of the passenger liners?"

Looking back up at the DRADIS screen, Kelso chuckled a bit. Somewhat lost as they might be, at least every ship in his improvised fleet had come through on the far side of the jump together.

"We did that the last time," he replied simply. "Trouble is that civilian ships aren't really meant for travel outside the normal intercolonial traffic lanes, their systems are pretty much dependent on the DRADIS relay network for navigation. Get them out here, well outside the mapped routes and their systems are just too rudimentary to be of much use."

Letting out a long sigh, her eyes obviously worried, Cole gently nodded her head, then looked silently up to DRADIS as well.

"When put into context with everything else we've gone through, everything else we've survived thus far, this is just a speed bump," continued Kelso as he watched the screen overhead. "After being hit with so many sledge hammers over the last couple days, a mere speed bump is a welcome change of pace."

Snorting at that, Cole had to again nod in agreement.

"At least we _all_ jumped to the same wrong coordinates," she smiled, pointing up to the small cluster of ships holding formation with _Pacifica_.

"See, it's not so hard being an optimist, now is it?"

Within moments, everything around CIC seemed to settle back into the routine.

Routine…

Adrian Kelso had to admit it felt strange thinking of it that way again; honestly, what was routine about a bunch of veterans and refugees escaping an apocalypse?

Nevertheless, routine was just how it felt, that long stretch of monotony that was often the norm between those exhilarating, terrible moments of action. Slowly, Adrian Kelso realized just how many of those long stretches of tedium had been glossed over in his memory, the far more compelling memories of terror and death cheating those memories of their potency. System checks, reports, a slight turn to Starboard, another to Port, the gentle monitoring of other ships as they flew in formation, the terrifying dullness of maneuvering a vessel almost one and a half kilometers in length.

How was it that somehow he'd managed to forget that boredom?

And then, quite involuntarily, Adrian Kelso remembered, it was because he never allowed himself to focus on that boredom. Boredom bred complacency, and complacency could be as deadly to a Battlestar crew as an entire barrage of Cylon missiles. A careless valve left open could flood an entire transfer line with volatile fuel rather than suppressant foam during a shipboard fire. A careless deckhand might not check frayed edges on a loading strap on an ordnance pallet leading to a failure that dropped high explosive warheads amid a packed flight deck.

Complacency could kill as easily as the enemy.

As that sobering thought passed through his mind, a somewhat hesitant Theo Cullen stepped back up to the plot table.

"These should be the proper coordinates, Commander," he said evenly as he lay the chart out over the plot table.

Looking down at the chart, Kelso saw two sets of plot markings; the first was the unaltered set which had put them for all intents and purposes in the middle of nowhere. The second was a new marking, presumably a new series of calculations that took into account the fact that over time even stars moved in relation to one another. And no matter how small that relative movement was on a stellar scale, it _was_ potentially enough to throw off jump calculations.

"Okay, Theo, looks good," said Kelso evenly, nodding his head in approval as he looked back up to the DRADIS.

"Did you want to double check the calculations, Commander?" asked Cullen.

"This new set, did you take stellar drift into account?" asked Kelso evenly, his eyes never leaving DRADIS.

"Yes, Commander."

"Then there is no need for _me_ to double check," he said flatly, this time looking over at Cullen. "I trust you. Besides, you know damned well I've always hated math."

With that, Cullen's demeanor cracked a bit, the old veteran letting a smile creep onto his lips.

"Shall I distribute the new set of coordinates, Commander?" asked Cullen, his confidence invigorated somewhat.

Looking back up at DRADIS, Kelso gently drummed his fingers on the plot table as he pondered the relatively blank screen overhead.

"Go ahead and distribute the coordinates, Theo," he began, raising his hand a bit as Cullen turned to step away. "But also include a message that we'll be holding this position for a little while."

"Aye, sir," replied a somewhat perplexed Cullen.

"If I may ask, Commander, why are we holding position?" asked Cole, keeping her voice low as Cullen made his way over to Templeton at Communications.

"Like I said before," said Kelso evenly. "A speed bump; they're there to remind you to slow down and take your time."

Looking down from DRADIS, Kelso saw the somewhat perplexed look on Cole's face.

"DRADIS is clear right now," he continued. "Since we jumped out to this area by accident, I'm guessing the Cylons won't track us down any time soon. I figure it's as good a time as any to stop, have a breather and take stock of what and with whom we've managed to escape."

"We could use the break," sighed Cole as she returned her attention to the DRADIS. "We crammed everyone aboard so quickly, might go a long way to helping people adjust to start sorting out where everyone can sleep, maybe even shuffle the _Vanguard_ survivors around to fill out gaps in ship operations."

"Officer thinking, Ensign," smiled Kelso.

Then, to Kelso's subtle amusement, he noted that Cole had begun gently drumming her fingers on the plot table as she looked back up at DRADIS.

* * *

******Battlecruiser _Enceladus  
_****Near Emergency Fleet Rally Point 756NE  
**

"DRADIS sweep complete, Colonel, negative contacts," called Lieutenant Birch.

"And that's number three," whispered Runel as he stood staring blankly up at the empty DRADIS screen.

Looking down at the list of Emergency Rally Points lying on the plot table, Runel slowly reached up, pulled a pen from his pocket, and made a simple tick mark beside the final set of coordinates.

Three rally points, three jumps completed, no contact with the enemy, but no contact with friendly forces either.

Letting out a long sigh, Runel put the pen back in his pocket and cast his eyes back to the screen overhead.

"Kendrick, get on the short range wireless and advise _Savitri_, _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_ that we will hold position here for thirty minutes," said Runel evenly as he continued to all but glare at the empty DRADIS screen.

"Aye, sir."

Thirty minutes.

Runel let out another long breath.

Thirty minutes to wait, and after that, he wasn't entirely sure.

As he stood watching DRADIS, Runel took stock of his situation.

Although underway, his ship, the _Enceladus_, still had a long list of damage needing repair. Those repairs efforts were, however, beginning to bear fruit since his own people were now aided by the additional personnel evacuated from the doomed _Republica_. For the moment, having them parceled out assisting the DC teams served more than the obvious purpose of expediting the repairs; the less people he left idle with nothing to do but think about what they'd lost, the better.

The other ships of his group, _Savitri_, _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_, had fared better so far and were reporting themselves at or very near one hundred percent. As harsh as it seemed to think such a thing, the loss of _Republica_ had offered Runel's ships the opportunity to replace personnel losses they themselves had suffered so far fighting the Cylons.

But to what end?

When they'd begun jumping to the remainder of the ERP's listed in the _Enceladus_' Emergency War Orders, Runel had held out some measure of hope of finding and linking up with other survivors from the Colonial Fleet. Even chance encounters with surviving civilian ships would have been better to the nearly maddening prospect he faced of finding no one else left at all.

He tried to take a measure of solace from the knowledge that Commander Adama and the Battlestar _Galactica_ had managed to fight their way out of the Ragnar Anchorage and escape beyond the Red Line. But without knowing exactly where the _Galactica_ and the ships accompanying her had jumped to the likelihood of ever finding them was not promising. More to the point, if the two _Galactica_ pilots they'd rescued near Ragnar were correct then Commander Adama and the _Galactica_ would not be coming back, sincerely believing there to be no one else left alive.

Colonel Thadius Runel was on his own.

As a military man, tried and trained, Runel had to swallow hard to accept that the war was already long since lost. But as he stood staring up at the blank screen, his own words came back to haunt him.

'_In the absence of any other command directives, a commander is to do anything and everything to ensure that their ship and their crew survive._'

He'd said those words to Colonel Webber, and he'd meant them. And now as he stood beneath the empty DRADIS screen, with all his other imperatives exhausted, Colonel Thadius Runel faced the hard reality that like the Battlestar _Galactica_, there was now little for him to do but make an escape into the deep, unknown reaches of space, hope the Cylons can't follow, and pray that somewhere, somehow, a new home could be built.

So if that was his reality, why did he still feel a lingering doubt?

As he stood there, the main entry opened and the first shift strode back in to resume their posts. Somewhat surprised, Runel looked at the ship's time base clock. Sure enough, per his order, they'd stayed out of CIC exactly six hours, not one second more or less.

With no fanfare, the first shift crew spread back out through CIC. As he watched them resume their posts, Runel saw Lieutenant Thorpe enter and make his way towards the plot table.

"Sleep well, Lieutenant?" asked Runel.

"A few hours, sir," replied Thorpe evenly.

"Believe it or not, I'm jealous," countered Runel as he reached over and slid the chart showing their jumps closer. "As soon as you've taken full report from Lieutenant Birch, I need you to plot me two jumps."

Picking up a grease pencil, Runel leaned in over the chart.

"Our first jump will be out to Leto's Twins," he said evenly, pointing the pencil at the twin pulsars on the chart. "From there, I need another jump straight out into the Prolmar sector, beyond the Red Line."

Again, Runel moved the pencil, this time leaving a faint line stretching from Leto's Twins to the ominous 'unknown' label resting beneath Prolmar sector.

"Has anyone ever plotted a jump that far before, sir?" asked Thorpe.

"Commander Adama's Tac Officer apparently did," replied Runel, smirking as he said as much. "Which means, unless you're prepared to admit he's better at his job than you are, you'll be able to do the same."

From the determined expression that cemented onto Thorpe's face, it was clear he was not ready to make such an admission. Stoking the embers of professional rivalry, almost always a convenient and effective way to motivate someone.

"I'll get us there, sir," replied Thorpe, a thin smile also crossing his lips. "So we're going to try and link up with the _Galactica_ after all, Colonel?"

Looking back down at the chart, Runel mulled the question over in his mind. To be sure there was an undercurrent of enthusiasm in Thorpe's voice at the prospect; searching for the _Galactica_ was a much more tangible goal to hold onto psychologically than simply wandering aimlessly through space hoping to stumble upon a habitable planet.

"While it won't be our primary goal, we won't ignore the prospect of finding _Galactica_ if we stumble across evidence of her presence," replied Runel evenly as he looked over at Thorpe. "Start plotting the jumps, Lieutenant."

As Thorpe stepped away with the chart overlay, Runel slowly looked back up at the blank screen. The pragmatic part of his brain had made the rational choice, but looking at that maddeningly blank screen still left him with doubt. Billions of people throughout the Colonies, tens of thousands of ships, transports, freighters, Raptors, luxury yachts, and no one else was left alive?

The seeming impossibility of such an idea gnawed at him.

"Mr. Templeton, did Petty Officer Kendrick leave everything to your satisfaction?" asked Runel as he caught sight of Templeton fidgeting slightly over at Communications.

"I think she may have taken my headset, Colonel," replied Templeton as he peered down underneath the panel. "Wait, never mind, here it is, sir."

"Good, as soon as you are ready, I need you to raise _Savitri_-Actual for me."

"Aye, Colonel."

After a few more moments, Templeton looked up from his console and nodded to Runel, who in turn picked up the handset on the side of the plot table.

"_Savitri_-Actual, this is _Enceladus_-Actual," began Runel as he slowly stretched his back, hearing a distinct pop in the process.

"_This is _Savitri-_Actual, go ahead_," replied the voice of Colonel Brianna Webber over the wireless.

"Slight change to my orders," began Runel as he leaned back in over the plot table. "We're going to hold this position for a little while longer."

"_Understood; what have you got in mind_?"

"What makes you think I have something in mind?"

"_Because this is our last ERP and we still haven't had any contacts. You wouldn't be ordering a halt unless you had something in mind_."

"As a matter of fact I do," sighed Runel. "I know you're hauling a heavy deck over there, but how quickly can you prep twelve Raptors for a reconnaissance run?"

"_Standby_," answered Webber flatly.

While he waited with the handset pressed to his ear, Runel turned back to Templeton.

"Put an announcement out over the One-MC; have Lieutenant Birch report back to CIC."

"Understood, Colonel," replied Templeton.

"_You there, _Enceladus_-Actual_?" came back the voice of Webber a moment later.

"Send it, _Savitri_-Actual."

"_CAG says he can have twelve Raptors prepped for a recon run in forty mikes_."

"Good, go ahead and make them ready," began Runel as he slowly looked back up at the blank DRADIS. "Mission order is as follows; straight forward recon run, each Raptor is to jump from our present location back to our home worlds, one Raptor per Colony."

Pausing, Runel turned around in time to see a somewhat perplexed Lieutenant Birch step back into CIC.

"All Raptor crews are to avoid contact with the enemy at all costs," continued Runel as he waved Birch over to the plot table. "They will loiter within shortwave wireless range for six hours, triangulate and record any signals they receive, but they are _not_ to respond; this is strictly a ghost operation. At the end of the six hours they will jump back to a different set of coordinates that will be ready for them by the time they launch."

"_Copy that_, Enceladus-_Actual_," replied Webber, her tone almost impressed. "_Can I ask why_?"

"To remove doubt," he replied flatly. "Get your birds ready. _Enceladus_, out."

Hanging up the handset, Runel turned to Birch.

"Sorry to call you back up to CIC, Lieutenant," began Runel as he started off across CIC, Birch close behind.

"No trouble, sir," answered Birch, suppressing a yawn as he followed.

Within moments, Runel and Birch stepped up to the larger plot table where Lieutenant Thorpe was diligently at work plotting the jumps Runel had requested. At Runel's approach, Thorpe set down the grease pencil he was holding and straightened up.

"Have you got those jumps plotted yet, Lieutenant?" asked Runel as he settled in beside the table.

"Still working on it, sir," replied Thorpe flatly.

"Slight change of plans," sighed Runel as he looked down at the chart. "I need three plots not just two, I had Birch come back up to give you a hand."

Picking up the grease pencil, Runel reached over and pulled the chart closer.

"_Savitri_ is preparing to send out a recon mission in about forty mikes," began Runel evenly as he looked up at the two junior officers. "Now I don't feel comfortable loitering here at a recorded position for their return so I need you two to find me a new rally point where they can link back up with us. The exact location is at your discretion but try to make it random, avoid the marked lanes or anywhere the Cylons might be trolling about, a place that's out of the way. As soon as you've plotted them, I want you to get those coordinates over to the _Savitri_."

"Aye, sir."

"From that point, we'll plot our jump out to Leto's Twins," continued Runel as he absently reached over and pointed on the chart overlay. "And of course from there, plot the third jump out to the Prolmar sector."

With that, Runel quickly glanced from Thorpe to Birch, and noted the slight hesitation on their faces; plotting three jumps so quickly was daunting, but then, that's why he'd called Birch back to CIC.

"I'm not about to ask 'please' gentleman," stated Runel evenly.

At that, both Thorpe and Birch nodded in acknowledgement as Runel turned and stepped back over to the main plot table beneath DRADIS.

Even as he settled back in beneath the overhead screens, Runel was preparing himself for the all too real likelihood that the Raptors would return with no indications of any more survivors. Nevertheless, he was resolute that ordering the recon run was what needed to be done. As a soldier, if he was going to be forced into abandoning the Colonies, forced to retreat into the vast depths of unexplored space, he was going to be as damned certain as possible that no one else was left.

So long as it was practical, he was going to erase all doubt.

* * *

******Raptor Zero-Seven-Five  
****Starboard Flight Pod of the Colonial Battlestar _Heracles  
_**

"Set us down right there, Lieutenant," muttered Kelso as he pointed out through the darkened flight deck at a lift pad illuminated by the Raptor's spotlight.

"Aye, sir," replied Lieutenant Cetina as she slowed the small craft and settled it in over the pad, stopping with a slight thud. "Skids down, sir."

"The other Raptors?" asked Kelso evenly as he glanced out past the canopy in time to see the four other Raptors Major Burke had dispatched per his orders settle in nearby.

"They're settling in on the other lifts, Commander," called Ensign Petrovich from the rear of the compartment.

"Are you certain these lifts will still work, sir?" asked Cetina as she set about securing the Raptor's systems.

"If _Heracles_ were an older Battlestar, Lieutenant, we'd have to wait for _Galactica_ to finish recovering survivors from _Anhur_ or go EVA to get aboard," began Kelso evenly as he watched Cetina secure the Raptors systems. "Lucky for us, she's _Mercury_ Class. All we have to do is engage the emergency battery power for the lift systems and we should be able to drop down into the hangar deck even with the mains offline."

"But I thought the emergency battery controls could only be accessed from _inside_ the hangar bay," muttered Lieutenant Cetina as she watched Kelso reach out towards the wireless keypad.

"Uncommon knowledge from having helped build these ships, Lieutenant," replied Kelso as he punched a few numbers into the wireless keypad. "_Mercury_'s were the first ship to have them set up for _exterior _control, all you need is the right wireless channel and an engineer's command code; wasn't exactly the kind of knowledge we wanted pirates or terrorists to find out."

As Kelso finished putting the sequence into the wireless, the lift suddenly jolted as it began to descend into the hangar deck below.

As the lift carried the Raptor down from the flight deck, the outer hatches closed above them, cutting off what little ambient light there had been, casting the Raptor cabin into complete darkness.

Kelso tried in vain to see what lay beyond the canopy, attempting to discern whether the access hatch into the hangar bay had opened or not.

"Go ahead and turn on the exterior lights," muttered Kelso, squinting as he tried to make out anything in the stifling darkness.

A moment later, Cetina turned on the Raptor's exterior lights, casting some, but not a lot of light into the cavernous hangar area. While Kelso was able to make out the tail ends of a few Vipers in some of the service bays, he really couldn't see much else.

No crew, no movement, nothing...

Reaching up, he quickly unfastened the straps holding him in the seat and stepped back towards the Raptor's hatch.

"We reading atmosphere out there, Ensign?" asked Kelso as he glanced over at Petrovich.

"Yes, sir," replied Petrovich.

"Then go ahead and open the hatch," said Kelso evenly as he stepped up to the hatch.

With a flip of a switch, the hatch slowly began to open before him. As it came to a stop, Kelso realized, quite absurdly, that he had been holding his breath, as though something so ridiculous would have helped had the gauges been wrong and there'd been nothing but vacuum outside the Raptor. Shaking his head at that, Kelso stepped out and slowly made his way down the winglet.

As the heels of his boots made firm contact with the deck, Kelso looked over his shoulder as the other four Raptors sent over from _Galactica_ likewise settled into place nearby. But whereas he had emerged alone from his ship, the opening hatches of the other Raptors quickly disgorged over a dozen heavily armed, combat-clad Marines out into the darkened hangar deck.

As the Marines swept out into a wide circle around the Raptors, the lights mounted on their weapons cut into the darkness, casting eerie shadows about the service bays. With more light, Kelso was able to get a better view of the hangar deck; there were several Vipers, all intact as far as he could tell, a couple Raptors as well. There were tools and spare parts, all the equipment need to make _Galactica_ more operationally effective.

But still, he saw no survivors.

As the Marines settled into place, more crewmembers emerged from the Raptors, presumably the DC and Medical teams Kelso had requested Burke send over as well.

As he returned his attention to the surrounding darkness, Kelso was surprised when someone called out his name.

"Commander Kelso, sir?"

Turning back around, it took a moment for Kelso make out Lieutenant Meloni, one of the recently recovered Viper pilots, hopping down from the Raptor, his boots making a distinct thud against the deck before jogging the few steps over to him.

"I thought you were going to take a shower, Lieutenant?"

"Left all my clean uniforms over here, Commander, thought I might come over and grab one before I took that shower."

"I hope you didn't come over here because you think I don't know my way around a Battlestar, Lieutenant," asked Kelso as he returned his attention to the surrounding darkness.

"Not at all, sir," replied Meloni. "I just thought that since this is my ship…"

"You wanted to see for yourself how many of your friends may have survived," finished Kelso.

"Yes, sir."

Pausing, Kelso turned back and looked around to the encircling Marines.

"Who's the NCOIC?" called Kelso.

"That would be me, Commander," called one of the Marines as he broke from the circle and jogged the few feet over to Kelso and Meloni. "Sergeant Jeff Caan, sir."

"Okay, Sergeant, here's the deal," began Kelso as he gave Sergeant Caan's hand a quick shake. "We set down here in the aft end of the bay, so let's go ahead and get your people moving forward compartment by compartment."

"Understood, sir."

"Do you want me to take lead, Commander?" asked Meloni.

"No, Lieutenant, let Sergeant Caan and his Marines take point," replied Kelso evenly. "Much as I hope we don't run into any, there could still be Cylons aboard from the boarding action; I suggest we let the professionals with the guns go first."

"Thank you, Commander," muttered Caan, his tone carrying a hint of sarcasm. "Do we have any idea how many Cylons may have come aboard?"

"Lieutenant, any ideas?" asked Kelso as he looked over at the Viper pilot.

"I noted three craft making the approach on the Port pod, sir," replied Meloni as he seemed to play over the memory in his mind. "We were able to make one good pass, ripped the ships themselves up on the deck before the Centurions blew open the airlock hatches. If I had to guess, perhaps two dozen actually managed to breach into the interior."

"Then let's hope some of your shipmates managed to take some of them down, otherwise we'll be outnumbered," noted Sergeant Caan, looking down at his weapon, half-cocking the bolt to ensure the chamber was loaded.

"One way or another, we'll find out soon," sighed Kelso as he motioned for Ensign Petrovich to hand over a large emergency light resting inside the Raptor's compartment.

Taking hold of the large lamp, Kelso toggled the switch into the 'on' position and cast a bright, wide beam of light down the center section of the hangar space. As with most areas of a warship, even the hangar spaces were compartmentalized from each other, and Kelso had no trouble seeing the large, closed blast door at the far end of the area.

"Go ahead and start moving your people forward, Sergeant," said Kelso evenly as he began taking a few tentative steps towards the far end of the bay.

"What do you want us to do, sir?" asked Lieutenant Cetina as she poked her head out the Raptor behind him.

"You and the other pilots go ahead and stay here," replied Kelso as he glanced back over at Cetina. "Keep the Raptors on hot standby for takeoff just in case we need to hustle out of here."

"Understood, sir."

"Everyone else, go ahead and start moving forward."

"First team take point," called Sergeant Caan, his hand darting out as he pointed to the individual teams around the circle. "Second team fall in on the center element around the Commander, DC team and Medics; third team, you cover our tails."

A few curt nods of acknowledgement and the sound of rapid footfalls later, the Marines formed into a wide column and began making their way forward towards the large blast door at the far end of the hangar. Their weapons held at the ready, the Marines intently scanned the surrounding darkness, casting the weapon-mounted lights every which way, into every corner, across every overhead gantry.

"Got a body over here!" shouted one of the Marines at the head of the formation.

Reacting instantly, Kelso and Meloni jogged up behind the Marine. Looking over into one of the service bays, Kelso saw the orange-clad body of one of the ship's deck gang lying face down in a small pool of dry blood.

Glancing over his shoulder, Kelso motioned one of the medics forward. Flanked by two hyper-vigilant Marines, one with the weapon trained on the body, one with his weapon on the overhead gantry, the medic made her way over to the still form, reached down and slowly turned the body over.

While Kelso had half expected to see the man's body riddled with bullet holes, he instead saw the brightly colored handle of a screwdriver imbedded in the deckhand's chest. Beside him, Kelso heard Meloni gag slightly. Glancing over, Kelso saw the young Viper pilot half-bent over, taking in deep breaths, pausing every once in a while to spit some small amount of bile out onto the deck. As Meloni continued to try and recover his composure, the young medic stood up and made her way over to Kelso.

"Other than the obvious, there are no other wounds, no signs of additional trauma," she said simply. "Can't say for certain, sir, but my guess is that this was an accident."

"Probably fell on it when the ship was hit by ordnance," noted Kelso soberly as he glanced back over at Meloni. "You going to be okay, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, sir," replied Meloni as he straightened back up.

"I take it you knew him?"

"Not personally, sir, no," answered Meloni as he absently wiped his lips on his sleeve. "Just wasn't as ready to see a dead body as I thought I would be…"

Nodding slightly, Kelso reached out and patted Meloni on the back.

"All right, let's keep going, there might still be some survivors ahead," called Kelso as he motioned for the Marines to resume making their way forward.

Coming across no more bodies, the line of Marines continued forward until they reached large blast doors at the far end of the bay.

As the leading Marines stacked up beside the sealed hatch to one side of the blast door, they paused and glanced back towards Kelso. With a simple nod, he bid them forward.

Rotating the large locking mechanism, one Marine slowly pulled the hatch open as another stood by with her weapon at the ready. Tentatively stepping through, the team filed through, then spread themselves back out on the far side, with Kelso and the rest of the support staff following close behind.

Unremarkable, underwhelming, the Marines and support team found themselves in what was simply another long, darkened hangar compartment. As before, the Marines slowly began making their way forward through the space, eyes and lights piercing into the darkness, searching.

The distant crack of gunfire didn't register nearly as profoundly in Kelso's mind as the sound of some of the rounds ricocheting off the bulkhead only centimeters from his ear. Dropping full body to the hard deck, Kelso looked up to see a blur of light, the mounted lights on the weapons of the Marines darting about as they searched the darkness for the origin of the gunfire. Even as a couple more shots rang out, the Marines, the support personnel, all of them, rapidly fanned out through the area, searching for cover.

A few feet away in the middle of the cavernous space, one weapon lay still on the deck, the mounted light shining across the form of a Marine desperately clutching his leg, thick ribbons of blood visible between his fingers.

"Gods dammit, I'm hit!" cried the Marine as he clenched his teeth against the pain.

Even with rounds continuing to erupt sporadically from the darkness at the other end of the bay, the same medic who'd examined the body dashed out across the bay towards the wounded Marine. Following close on her heels was Sergeant Caan, who likewise dashed out into the open. With the both of them reaching the wounded man at the same time, without a word, they both deftly reached down and grabbed hold of the wounded Marine's gear and began dragging him towards one of the service bays.

Returning his attention to the darkened area on the far end of the bay, Kelso saw a few more intermittent flashes, followed by the echoing thunderclap of gunfire.

"Hold your fire!" called Kelso desperately.

Calling out as much to his own Marines as to the unseen snipers ahead, Kelso was nevertheless relieved when the incoming fire from the far end ceased. Even so, the Marines scattered about on either side of the bay warily kept their weapons at the ready, holding their positions behind whatever cover they'd managed to find.

Glancing over, Kelso saw the medic frantically working to control the bleeding, tightly securing a compress bandage over the wound as the Marine let out pain-driven grunt stifled only by the tactical glove clenched tightly between his teeth.

"We need to get this man back to _Galactica_, Commander," called the medic as she slapped another compress down over the already blood-soaked first.

"Take him through that hatch over there," called Kelso as he pointed to a second hatch on the opposite side from the one they'd entered through.

"Riggs, Benavidez, go with her," snapped Sergeant Caan as he kept his eyes locked on the far end of the bay.

In response, two more Marines dashed across the open bay, thankfully drawing no fire. Snatching up their wounded comrade, the two Marines carried him swiftly towards the second hatch with the medic close behind.

Returning his gaze to the far side of the bay, Kelso took a deep, steadying breath and slowly peeled himself up off of the deck, his eyes never leaving the darkness ahead.

"Hold your fire," he repeated as he slowly returned to his feet, holding his hands up as he began taking a few tentative steps forward.

"I'd feel much better, sir, if you'd get your ass over here behind some cover," hissed Sergeant Caan.

Glancing over momentarily at Caan, long enough to gently shake his head 'no', Kelso continued to take tentative steps towards the far end of the bay.

"That's far enough!" shouted a voice from the darkness. "Identify yourself immediately, or we _will_ open fire!"

"I am Commander Sean Kelso from the Warstar _Galactica_," replied Kelso, his arms still raised, his heart pounding as he stood there in the open.

"There is no fraking' 'Warstar _Galactica_' you gods-damned toaster!" shouted another voice, punctuated a split second later by the sound of another round ricocheting overhead.

Flinching, but nevertheless staying on his feet, Kelso took another couple slow steps forward.

"I said _don't _move," came the first voice again.

Again, another round ricocheted overhead.

The nice approach wasn't working…

Out of pure frustration, Kelso simply dropped his hands back down to his sides.

"Gods dammit, we're not Cylons, now hold your gods-damned fire!" burst Kelso angrily.

Up ahead, there was nothing but silence.

"Look, I don't have time for this _crap_," snapped Kelso, crossing his arms defiantly as he glared out into the darkness. "We are from the Warstar _Galactica_, it's a new ship; we were going through a shakedown out near the Cygnus range, she's not even in commission yet, that's why you haven't heard about her."

Pausing, Kelso stood there, impatient, waiting. At the far end, he could hear voices, whispers, but couldn't make out what was being said.

"We're a _rescue_ team," he began again. "We're here to take on survivors, unless, of course, you'd rather stay here and either freeze to death or suffocate. It's your choice."

Again, there was only silence.

"How do we know you're not lying?" called the first voice finally.

"Bo-Jay, is that you?"

Glancing back over his shoulder, Kelso saw Lieutenant Meloni leaning out from where he'd taken cover.

"Bo-Jay, it's Buster, hold your fire!" said Meloni as he slowly stood up and made his way over beside Kelso, arms raised.

"Buster?"

"Don't shot me, Bo-Jay, or I swear to the gods I'll kick your frakin' ass!"

As Meloni stood there beside Kelso, another figure on the far side of the bay slowly stepped out into one of the beams cast by one of the weapon-mounted lights, sidearm at the ready.

"Gods, I never thought I'd see your ugly face again, Buster," stated the figure as he finally holstered his weapon and jogged over to Meloni, snatching the pilot up in his arms.

Like Meloni, the man who'd emerged was dressed in a pilot's flight suit. After a few hearty pats, the man let go of Meloni and took a step back.

"Thought the Toasters had smoked your ass for sure."

"Not today," replied Meloni, nodding his head towards Kelso. "But if it weren't for the Commander here, we'd have run out of fuel over an hour ago."

Looking over at Kelso, the man couldn't miss the indignant look on the Commander's face.

"Commander Kelso, this lousy shot is Lieutenant Boland Jenner, call sign Bo-Jay," said Meloni as he gave Jenner a quick slap on the shoulder.

"Not so lousy a shot from where I'm standing, Lieutenant," replied Sergeant Caan as he briskly stepped up and landed a hard right hook against Jenner's jaw. "Do we look like we're covered in chrome plating you near-sighted fighter jock!"

Staggered by the impact, Lieutenant Jenner stutter-stepped and then collapsed onto the non-ski deck.

Lashing out with his arms, Kelso grabbed hold of Sergeant Caan as Lieutenant Meloni likewise grasped onto Jenner as he lunged up from the deck towards Caan.

"What the frak!" burst Jenner as he lashed out with one hands towards Caan.

"What the hell are you doing, Sergeant?" burst Kelso as he shoved the Marine back away from Jenner.

"He _hit_ one of _my_ Marines, Commander," growled Caan as he glared over at Jenner. "Seemed only fair he get hit in return, 'course, he's not in any risk of _bleeding_ to death like my man is."

"I want him brought up on charges," snapped Jenner as he wiped at the trickle of blood coming from his lip. "Striking a superior officer in time of war…"

"Shut the frak up, Lieutenant!" burst Kelso as he looked back over at Jenner. "Any charges against him would be brought before _me_, and since you almost took off _my _head with your gunfire, I'm not likely to be a very sympathetic ear."

"I'm sorry, I didn't…we didn't know you were human," said Jenner somewhat sheepishly as he looked back over at the still fuming Sergeant Caan.

"Don't apologize to me, apologize to the man you shot," replied Caan flatly as he continued to wrestle his anger back under control.

"Now as for me," continued Kelso as he looked at both Jenner and Caan. "It's just _damned_ lucky for the _both_ of you that I'm a man who believes in looking at things in context."

"Yes, sir," muttered Caan evenly.

"Understood, Commander," said Jenner, nodding his head slightly as he continued to massage his sore jaw.

"Now, back to the bigger problems at hand," sighed Kelso as he glanced over at the other figures beginning to emerge from the darkness behind Jenner. "We need some lights in here."

With that, Kelso turned around and saw that his own Marines and crewmembers were likewise beginning to tentatively step out from behind cover.

"Where's my DC team?" called Kelso.

"Here, sir," replied a voice from behind a rather sizeable tool locker.

"Get your ass out from behind there and see what you can do about getting me some emergency lighting in here," said Kelso evenly as he turned back to face Jenner and Meloni.

A few moments later, the DC team quickly stepped over and connected a battery pack to circuit box inside one of the nearby service bays. As the emergency overhead floodlights came to life, excising the darkness, Kelso flinched, blinking his eyes as they adjusted to the sudden change.

Opening his eyes again, Kelso was surprised to find himself facing what to him seemed to be nearly an entire flight deck crew. All about, huddled into the service bays at the far end were a myriad of crewmembers, some in green fatigues, some in the orange and yellow coveralls indicative of hangar service personnel. Moreover, Kelso saw a small cluster of pilots, apparently the ones who'd been firing at them, slowly lowering and holstering their sidearms.

Taking a deep breath, Kelso looked back over at Lieutenant Jenner.

"Can I presume you are the most senior officer present?" asked Kelso.

"Thus far, yes, sir," replied Jenner evenly. "Most of the more senior pilots launched during the initial attack before the main launch systems were knocked out."

"And most of them were blasted even before they cleared the tubes," muttered Meloni.

"How many people do you have down here, Lieutenant?" asked Kelso as he slowly stepped past Meloni and Jenner and looked over at the haggard faces of the surviving deck gang.

"Last head count was two hundred and ten, Commander," replied Jenner as he motioned over towards the huddled forms ahead. "About thirty pilots, the rest are deck gang."

"Any wounded?"

"Nothing severe, sir," replied Jenner, sighing a bit as he stepped forward a few steps. "Most of our critically wounded from the attack have already…"

With that, Jenner's voice trailed off somewhat as he motioned over to one of the service bays where several still forms, bodies, lay draped beneath some drop cloths.

"Meloni said the ship was boarded by Centurions during the battle, have you had any contact with other areas of the ship?" asked Kelso.

"Most of the hatches were closed and sealed when the ship went to Action Stations," began Jenner as he led Kelso over to a handset mounted on the bulkhead. "We were able to make intermittent contact with individuals scattered all over the ship earlier, but the system went dead a little while ago. There were some reports of boarders over on the Port pod, but we lost contact with the deck gang over there even before the phones gave out."

"That's because the entire Port pod was destroyed," said Kelso as he reached over, picked up the phone handset, punched a few keys, and got no response.

"Have you been able to make your way back into the main areas of the ship?" asked Kelso as he hung the handset back in place.

"Not as yet, Commander," replied Jenner. "At first we just bunkered down here in case some Centurions made their way over here. After sitting here in the dark for a while without any word or update, we tried to pry open some of the hatches but near as we can tell they were damaged in the attack, the frames may have been bent, we can't get them to so much as budge."

"DC, did you bring any cutting tools with you?" shouted Kelso as he glanced back over to the DC team.

"No, sir."

"Then we'll have to wait until _Galactica_ comes alongside," sighed Kelso as he looked back over at Jenner.

"How long before they're able to dock, Commander?" asked Meloni.

"Depends on how long it takes to take the survivors aboard from _Anhur_," replied Kelso as he watched the surviving deck gang slowly begin making their way over to him.

"Has there been any word on how the battle is going, sir?" asked Jenner hopefully. "We've been cut off for almost a day now."

Looking over at the young pilot, Kelso took a breath.

"Not well, Lieutenant," sighed Kelso.

Although Kelso was fairly certain Jenner was able to pick up on his drastic understatement, the Commander felt it wasn't the time to start reading off the long list of casualties and tragedies in front of the already visibly demoralized deck gang assembling around him.

There would be time to let them know the full scope of the destruction later. Right now though, he needed them to get their heads back into the fight.

Stepping forward, Kelso motioned with his hands for all the survivors to gather in closer around him. As they settled into a sizeable semi-circle around him, Kelso noted the looks on their faces; tired, angry, fearful, uncertain.

"Okay people, I know most of you are anxious for news about what's going on," he began, his voice echoing a bit off the bulkheads. "But I'm not here to gossip. Suffice it to say the situation is bad."

"Is there anything you _can_ tell us, sir?" asked one of the deck gang flatly. "Has there been any more attempts to counterattack?"

Looking down at the man, barely more than a teenager as far as Kelso could see, the Commander took a deep breath.

"Right now, crewman, the only thing I know and can tell you with any certainty is that you are all alive," replied Kelso, his tone quite sincere. "And believe me when I say that that counts for a hell-of-a lot right now."

Nodding his head, the young crewman seemed to accept the answer.

"Now I know you've all been through one hell-of-a wringer already," sighed Kelso as he looked back out to the others. "And while I wish I could tell you that you've earned some down time, the truth is that I need you all to get ready to jump back into this fight."

Pausing, Kelso looked out into their faces, a small, almost sinister grin creeping across his lips.

"And for those of you who might be looking for some payback, believe me, you'll get your chance soon enough."

* * *

******Serenity Valley  
****Sagittaron Colony  
**

Captain Gaines leaned in over the railing of the tower and looked down at her Marines working in the early morning light.

While the basic trench line and fighting positions had already been in place when her beleaguered force had followed Corporal Marius into the former township of Serenity, the work they managed to complete over the last few hours was no less impressive.

While she had allowed most of her people to get some rest in the night, she had also nevertheless put those whose turn it was to be awake to work laying out and emplacing the significant cache of weapons and equipment Marius had hoarded away in the temple basement.

In the early morning dawn, Gaines saw that several of the heavy machine guns had been put into place and boxes of ammunition moved up to the positions to ensure a steady rate of fire should the Cylons besiege the position. Strung out between each of the main bunkers, newly laid comm wire linked the positions together via field phones.

In the courtyard below, two mortars were also being set under Marius' guidance. According to the old Marine, so long as they were put into place exactly where he directed, he already had a long list of preplotted target reference points for them to zero-in on. The few civilian police officers and medics who'd been unfortunate enough to get caught on the ground with them had traded out their light ballistic vests for some of the heavier body armor from the cache, more or less integrating themselves into the rest of the battle line.

All told, Gaines had to admit, if the Cylons decided to attack Serenity, they might overrun them by sheer weight of numbers, but it would cost them to do so.

As she continued to look down through the compound, Gaines saw Lance Corporal Vallero, her communications operator, splicing the last few lengths of comm wire into several field phones near the mortar position. After a quick function check, dialing out to each of the individual positions and receiving a reply from the Marines posted at them, Vallero stepped over and picked up another pack. Making his way over to the central cistern in the courtyard, Vallero then reached into the pack and pulled out a portable wireless transmitter. Not thinking much of it at first, Gaines looked down at her watch and noted it was approaching the top of the hour.

When she saw that, Captain Gaines suddenly felt a twinge of concern, however vague.

Something wasn't right, but she wasn't exactly sure what…

Glancing back down, Gaines caught sight of Vallero as he pulled out a portable satellite link antenna and began attaching it to the transmitter.

"Oh, frak!" she burst, turning hard on her heels and shooting off down the staircase.

Within seconds she'd vaulted down the steps, landing with a thud on what used to be the temple main assembly hall floor and bolted for the door.

Erupting out into the morning air, she dashed across the open courtyard directly towards the communications operator. For his part, Vallero was completely ignorant of her rapid approach as he lifted the wireless handset to his ear and keyed the transmitter.

"Stop!" she burst finally, loud enough to echo off the surrounding building facades, but not enough to fully grab the man's attention.

"This is Junkyard Six-Comm, to any station this net, over…" said Vallero evenly as he glanced up and saw Gaines approaching.

"Stop!" she shouted again.

This time, confused, Vallero looked around, as if completely unaware that the Captain was in fact shouting at _him_ to stop what he was doing.

Even as he turned back to look at the Captain, Vallero keyed the handset once more.

"I say again, this is Junkyard Six-Comm, to any station this net…." he said again, stopping when Gaines finally reached him and swiped out at him, slapping the handset from his hand.

Stunned, Vallero fell back slightly, not so much from the strike, but out of surprise.

"Captain?" he burst, looking up at her as she stood over him, panting heavily.

"No…transmissions…" she said in between gulping breaths. "They'll give away our position… Cylons will be able to get a transmission fix…"

His eyes lighting up, Vallero reached out and toggled the power switch to off.

"I'm sorry, Captain, I was just following SOP," said the man evenly.

"I know you were," sighed Gaines as she stretched her hand out to help the operator back to his feet. "But for now, frak SOP, the longer we can avoid letting the Cylons find our position, the better."

"Understood, sir," replied Vallero as he began to disconnect the antenna.

As she watched him, Gaines suddenly had another thought.

"Wait," she sighed, holding out her hand as she looked around to the other Marines working to improve the emplacements. "Go ahead and leave the set assembled."

"Aye, Captain," replied Vallero evenly, securing the antenna back into place.

"Go ahead and leave the set active, monitor it and report any traffic you pick up on wireless," she continued as she looked back down to him. "But, no _outgoing_ transmissions."

"And if I do pick up a signal, Captain?"

"Report it to me, I'll decide whether or not to answer," replied Gaines. "That way, if it calls down the thunder from the enemy, I only have myself to blame."

As Vallero looked back up at her for a moment, he was surprised, even relieved when she grinned.

"Aye, Captain," he said, grinning slightly as well as he turned the set back on. "I'm going to set for random scan, hopefully it will give us a better chance to pick up a transmission, I'll even punch in some of the civilian bands."

"Let me know if you pick _anything_ up," said Gaines simply as she began moving off to inspect some of the fighting positions.

* * *

Lieutenant Al Crandle hated sitting in a powered-down cockpit.

What he hated even more was sitting in a powered-down cockpit watching Cylon Basestars and Raiders in orbit of Sagittaron, moving about with impunity amid the pulverized hulks of several Colonial vessels.

"Gods-damned mother-fraking Cylon cock-suckers," he growled, perhaps for the hundredth time since they managed to sidle up into position and power down.

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?" muttered his ECO, Lieutenant Janice Krieger.

"Like it frakin' matters; my mom's dead," replied Crandle acidly. "They're _all_ dead."

"You don't know that," countered Krieger.

"Don't give me that optimist crap," snapped Crandle as he glared out past the wrecked hulk of a shredded Battlestar. "Gods what I wouldn't _give_ for a fraking nuke to fire right about now."

"Not our mission," said Krieger simply as she continued to adjust the wireless monitor on the panel in front of her. "Remember; strictly observe and report."

"I know the mission, doesn't mean I have to like," replied Crandle as he continued to watch a wide formation of Raiders sail past the Battlestar wreckage. "Gods, I'd love to have a nuke right now."

"Look, if floating around in the middle of enemy occupied territory isn't _exciting_ enough for you, when we get back, put in for a transfer over to Vipers," shot back Krieger, her tone growing annoyed. "But for right now, do me a fraking favor and shut the frak up so I can monitor the wireless. Gods, I'm getting sick of listening to you bitch up there."

Scoffing a bit, Crandle nevertheless shut his mouth as he continued to watch the Cylon activity beyond his canopy.

Sitting in silence, glancing down occasionally at the blank instrumentation on the powered-down panel in front of him, Crandle gently thumped his fist against the side of his seat in frustration.

"Stop!" snapped Krieger.

Crandle turned around and was about to give Krieger a piece of his mind about minding her own damned business regarding how he passed the time, but stopped even before the first word escaped his lips when he noted the concentration on her face. With slow movements, her fingers played with the wireless controls, gently adjusting the frequency.

Finally out of frustration, Krieger yanked off her flight helmet and slipped a headset on over her ear, pressing down on the earpiece as she listened intently.

As he watched her, Crandle was surprised by the gentle tingle of excitement that slowly began making its way up his spine.

Was it possible she'd actually picked something up?

"Damn," she muttered a moment later.

With the tingle beginning to fade, Crandle watched as Krieger reached up and ran back a digital recording of whatever it was she'd picked up.

Returning to her deep concentration, Krieger again set about slowly adjusting the settings on the recording.

"Holy frak, I've got something," she finally announced, a thin smile creeping onto her lips.

"Let's hear it," snapped Crandle as he closed his eyes and concentrated on what he heard through the flight helmet's speakers.

Faint at first, Crandle didn't hear anything but static, and was about to tell Krieger she was mistaken, when out of the static, he heard a voice. Faint at first, it was nevertheless distinct…

"That's it, I lost it after that," said Krieger.

"Play it again and bring up the low end a bit," said Crandle as he again waited and listened.

Again, faint, but distinct, Crandle heard the transmission through the static.

"_This is Junkyard Six-Comm, to any station this net, over…_"

Opening his eyes, Crandle looked back out past the canopy, past the dead Battlestar, even past the Cylons, looked out at the world beyond, the thick plumes of gray dust marring its natural green-blue hues. Somewhere down there on Sagittaron, amid all the fallout and death, someone was still alive.

"Did you isolate the frequency?" asked Crandle evenly.

"Yeah, but I'm not picking up anything else," replied Krieger.

Cracking his knuckles, Crandle scowled as another wing of Raiders passed along in low orbit over Sagittaron.

"Have you run the unit call-sign through our registry?"

"Came back as the unit call sign of a Marine detachment stationed at a reserve depot on Sagittaron," replied Krieger.

"Send them an acknowledgment over the same frequency and encryption," said Crandle evenly.

"Our orders say observe and report," countered Krieger. "They also state quite clearly that we are _not_ to respond."

"Frak that, if there's someone down there, we need to let them know we heard them," snapped Crandle. "If _I_ were down there, I'd want to know someone had heard _me_."

For a moment, Krieger didn't say anything.

Looking back over his shoulder, Crandle watched the hesitant Krieger.

"Do it, Janice," he said simply. "A short message, text only, something to let them know they were heard."

Eyes locked on one another for a moment, neither of them said a word. Finally, taking a breath, Krieger turned back to her panel.

"Fine, if you _were_ down there, what would you want to hear in response?" she asked as she set the wireless to transmit on the same frequency.

Pausing, Crandle thought it over. Looking out at the swarms of Cylon Raiders, he didn't try to think of something profound as much as something honest.

"Something straight forward," he began, a grin creeping onto his lips for the first time. "Tell them they're not alone."

* * *

"Captain!"

The voice echoed out through the square so suddenly Captain Gaines almost instinctively began scanning around for some sign of the enemy approaching. Seeing nothing, she turned back around and saw her communications operator rushing up breathlessly, a small piece of paper in his hand.

Finally coming to a stop before her, Vallero held out the small slip of paper, to her. Taking the paper, Gaines saw that it was a communications printout, she likewise saw the eager excitement in his eyes. Holding the small piece of paper up, Gaines looked at the short length of text.

"_Raptor Seven-Two-Three copies; you are not alone_."

A rapid tingle shooting up her spine, Gaines looked back over to her comm-operator.

"Is this confirmed?"

"Proper encryption protocol and everything, Captain," replied Vallero with a wide grin. "Authentic and legit."

"Keep monitoring," replied Gaines as she waved him back towards the wireless set.

As Vallero jogged back over to the transmitter, Gaines looked back down at the text.

"You are not alone," she muttered, reading the words right from the slip.

Looking skyward, Gaines couldn't help but grin slightly; somewhere out there, a Raptor had heard them.

And where there was a Raptor, she hoped, there was also a Battlestar.

Her eyes still cast skyward, Gaines felt invigorated somewhat, imbued with renewed purpose.

"You are not alone…"

* * *

******Battlestar _Heracles  
_****Starboard Flight Pod  
**

His arms crossed, Commander Sean Kelso watched as the large airlock hatch gauge turned green, indicating a good seal. Reaching out, Kelso motioned for one of the Marines beside him to help open the large securing latch holding the airlock shut.

With slightly more effort that it should have taken, no doubt due to some damage that had deformed the hatch somehow, Kelso and the Marine slowly wedged the doorway free and pulled it open.

"Permission to come aboard," called a voice on the far side as the hatch thudded gently against the bulkhead.

Looking up, Kelso saw _Galactica_'s Deck Chief, Maria Copeland staring out at him from the airlock interior, a veritable army of deckhands stacked up behind her.

"Granted," huffed Kelso evenly as he motioned them forward into the _Heracles_. "Certainly took you people long enough to clear out the _Anhur_."

"The Commander's orders were to be as thorough as possible, sir," replied Copeland, tongue-in-cheek as she began guiding the myriad of Medical and DC teams forward through the airlock.

As he watched them pass, Kelso suddenly realized that a good number of the personnel coming through the hatchway had shoulder patches from the _Anhur_ on their uniforms.

"I see you've already started putting some of the personnel you rescued to work," noted Kelso as Copeland stepped up beside him.

"I'd have to say some of them are _eager_ to help out, Commander," replied Copeland as she held up a clipboard for him. "Having a warship blasted out from under them was apparently a motivating experience for a lot of them."

"I take it this is a manifest of what we managed to take on from _Anhur_?' asked Kelso as he looked down at the small stack of pages attached to the clipboard.

"Yes, sir," replied Copeland evenly. "No doubt you'll be going over it in detail later, but suffice it to say we retrieved quite a bit from her."

"Not bad considering the amount of damage she sustained," noted Kelso evenly as he continued to flip through the pages. "What about the senior command staff or engineering personnel?"

"Both the forward command area and engineering were too badly damaged to survey, sir," sighed Copeland. "Frankly I doubt anyone could have survived in those sections."

"I figured as much when I saw the damage she suffered," sighed Kelso as he handed the clipboard back over to Copeland.

"If there's nothing else, Commander, I should get back to directing these knuckle-draggers," said Copeland as she motioned towards the still steady stream of personnel coming through the hatch.

"I'll be in CIC, Chief," began Kelso as he turned and headed back through the hatch, a few personnel stepping aside to let him through. "Advise me once you've started making headway into the interior sections of _Heracles_."

"Aye, Commander."

* * *

"Commander on deck!" snapped Lieutenant Cortez as Kelso stepped through the hatch into CIC.

Standing at rigid attention by the plot table, Major Burke looked across to him.

"At ease," replied Kelso evenly as he made his way back over to the plot table, his eyes focusing in on DRADIS as he moved. "Report, Major."

"Negative contacts on DRADIS, Commander," replied Burke evenly as she picked up clipboard from the plot table and held it out to him.

"What's this?" asked Kelso evenly as he took the clipboard.

"Final tally of recovered survivors from the _Anhur_," answered Burke evenly.

"Chief Copeland already gave me a run down," replied Kelso as he went to hand the clipboard back to Burke. "Let's go ahead and wait until we've got another head count from _Heracles_ for the final report."

"Understood, Commander," replied Burke as she took the clipboard back.

"Has there been any word from Major Macedo?"

"I know his team managed to pull the navigational hard drives from the damaged Scimitar, sir," began Burke as she stood staring up at DRADIS. "Whether they've managed to retrieve any data from them…"

Burke's voice trailed off as the entry hatch opened and Major Macedo himself quickly stepped through.

Noting Burke's voice trailing off, Kelso first glanced at her, and noting where her attention was, likewise looked over towards the hatch as Macedo stepped up.

"We managed to retrieve the information you were looking for, Commander," began Macedo excitedly as he quickly stepped up and unrolled a navigational chart.

Flattening out the corners of the chart, Macedo quickly pulled a grease pencil from his pocket, gently adjusted his thin-rim glasses, then began pointing at a mark on the overlay.

"This is Sagittaron, obviously," he began, making a small circle around it. "And here are the coordinates the Scimitar was supposed to jump to."

Again, Macedo made another small circle on the chart.

"Lieutenant Cortez, can you join us over here, please," called Kelso as he motioned his Tac Officer over to the plot table.

As Lieutenant Cortez made his way over from the upper gallery, Kelso looked down at the chart.

"And these are the coordinates where the civilian fleet jumped following their escape from Sagittaron?"

"It would appear to be the case, yes, Commander," replied Macedo evenly.

"Lieutenant Cortez, get on the horn down to Major Culver," began Kelso as Cortez stepped up next to him at the plot table. "Have CAG ready one Raptor for a reconnaissance run to these coordinates."

"Understood, Commander," replied Cortez evenly as he turned and stepped over to the Operations console.

"Major Burke, what do you think is the likelihood that the civilian fleet managed to evade detection by the Cylons?" asked Kelso evenly as he eyed the chart lying on the plot table.

"There were some reports of Cylon activity in that region at the start of the attack," sighed Burke as she riffled through a few stacked communication printouts. "But, those coordinates are still pretty far off the normal marked space lanes, so it may be possible they managed to evade pursuit."

"Major Macedo, what about our Vipers, have you made any headway making sure the CNP security issue doesn't compromise our fighters?"

"Believe it or not, sir, yes," replied Macedo evenly. "Since the Mark Sixes being flown by Lieutenant Meloni and his people weren't affected, we downloaded a copy of the nav software from their systems. So far it seems to be adapting fairly well to the computers onboard the Mark Sevens. All fighters should be action-ready within the hour."

"Good," sighed Kelso as he looked up at DRADIS. "From the looks of things we may be able to take on some more surviving fighters, both Mark Six and Mark Seven from _Heracles_, so keep on it as they're brought aboard."

"Aye, sir."

As Major Macedo gathered his papers and made his way out of CIC, Kelso glanced across to Major Burke.

"Anything to add, Major?" asked Kelso evenly.

"I suppose I'm just wondering what your next course of action is, Commander?"

"With no confirmation of any other surviving Colonial units, our clearest course is to try and link up with that civilian fleet," replied Kelso evenly as he looked back up at DRADIS.

"If I may be so bold, has the Commander considered the possibility that the Cylons might be setting a trap for us?"

"For us specifically, I doubt it," replied Kelso evenly. "Have I considered the possibility that they may have overtaken the civilian fleet and are lying in wait for anyone who might come looking for them; yes I have, hence the reason we're sending a Raptor to recon the situation first."

Looking across to her, Kelso grinned slightly.

"You still don't think I'm really up to this, do you?" began Kelso evenly. "Or perhaps, more precisely, you are curious to know whether I'd be willing to put this ship and crew in harm's way just to find out if my father is still alive."

This time, there was a more blatant challenge in Kelso's tone. It was intentional. While Burke had so far not directly challenged his command authority, there were still subtle hints in her tone, in the questions she asked.

"I'm not going to fence with you over this issue any more, Major," began Kelso evenly. "Moreover, I shouldn't have to. You've said you'd follow my orders. If you cannot do that, to the letter, then I suggest you relieve yourself of duty right now."

The gauntlet had been thrown. To look at Burke, you might think she'd actually been slapped by it.

"With all due respect, Commander," began Burke, her tone even as she looked back across the plot table at him. "As XO, it is my job to not only ensure that every possibility has been presented to the Commander for consideration, but to also ensure that his judgment has not been compromised."

"That is certainly true, Major," replied Kelso evenly. "Nevertheless, the question remains, will you follow my orders or not?"

While they'd kept the tone of their voices low, it was almost impossible for the CIC crew not to notice the exchange between them. That made it all the more important in Kelso's mind to ensure that the tension between himself and Burke be finally put to rest.

"You _are_ in command, sir," she finally said.

As much as he tried, Kelso couldn't be sure if that was a complete acquiescence on Burke's part. The few days they'd worked with one another still left many questions in his mind, certainly enough to undermine the formation of a deep trust that most CO/XO relationships took for granted.

But Kelso knew the ship needed an XO. Moreover, he knew he needed Burke.

And in their current situation, Kelso understood quite well, much like planning their next course of action, charting his course with Major Burke would need to be taken one step at a time.

* * *

******Battlestar _Pacifica  
_****Near the twin pulsar formation Leto's Twins  
**

"Jump complete, Commander," called Theo Cullen. "Checking with fleet; all ships present and accounted for."

"Very well," replied Adrian Kelso as he rubbed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he mentally shrugged off the lingering sensation of the jump. "Commence full DRADIS scan."

"Aye, sir, commencing now," called Cullen.

"Are you able to get a good fix on our current position, Mr. Cullen?" asked Kelso after a few moments.

Snatching up a chart, Cullen quickly made his way over to the main plot table.

"Presuming the calculations are correct, Commander," began Cullen as he lay the chart out across the table. "We should be right about here, above the northern polar position but the interference is quite a bit heavier than I was expecting."

"Heavier than I was expecting too," muttered Kelso as he looked back up at the DRADIS. "Charts said there'd be a nebula formation here, but I didn't think it would be this thick. How long will it take to map out the gravitational eddies in the area?"

"Best guess, it could take us as much as eight hours to accurately chart the gravitational currents in this area," replied Cullen as he too looked up at the screen. "Could take even longer considering we didn't expect Leto's pulsar wind nebula to be this large."

"That's a long time to maintain this position, Theo," sighed Kelso as he glanced over at Cullen. "Even in this soup, it might still be possible for an enemy patrol to get a fix on us."

"Well, Commander, if I may, the more ships we have out there mapping the currents the less time it will take," replied Cullen evenly. "But, we _do_ need to map out those magnetic currents before attempting a descent. Once we slip down inside that nebula, we'll be navigating by dead-reckoning, the last thing we'll want is for one of our ships to get disoriented and drift, it might get caught in one of the eddies and get pulled down towards one of the pulsars themselves; even if the gravity itself doesn't crush the ship, a gamma flash along the equatorial line will cook anyone aboard in an instant."

"Then we'd better make sure the area gets mapped properly," sighed Kelso as he pondered the implications of even one of their ships falling to such a fate. "Capshaw?"

"Yes, Commander?"

"Advise _Proteus_ to alter the initial mission profile; double the number of Raptors from four to eight, and also advise them to prepare a CAP to cover us while the mission is underway, advise to contact us as soon as all birds are ready to fly."

"Aye, Commander."

"Theo, go ahead and monitor the mapping mission and start plotting the course down into the nebula periphery," continued Adrian Kelso as he looked back up at the clouded DRADIS display overhead.

"Understood, sir," replied Cullen as he gathered up the chart and headed off towards the larger plot board in the upper gallery.

As Cullen settled in, Adrian Kelso's gaze settled back in on Ensign Cole opposite him at the main plot table.

Her eyes were fluttering a bit as she stood there looking up at DRADIS, drowsy, she caught herself as she began to fall forward slightly towards the plot table.

"You okay, Ensign?" asked Kelso evenly, a slight smirk on his face.

"Yes, sir," snapped Cole, doing her best to shake the grogginess from her expression, though not enough to stifle the yawn that escaped her. "Just a bit tired."

Nodding his head, Kelso looked about CIC. Everyone looked tired, and he doubted he looked much better than any one of them. Nearing the third day of their escape, the adrenaline had long ago worn off; they needed a rest.

"Commander?"

"Yes, Ensign?" replied Kelso as he turned back to her.

"What's the plan of action?"

Groggy as she might be, Kelso doubted Ensign Cole hadn't heard the conversation with Cullen.

"What do you mean, Ensign?"

"I mean, after we pull into the nebula, sir, what's the plan after that?"

Taking a deep breath, Kelso glanced around again at his tired CIC crew.

"Well, if the Raptors are able to plot us a clear path down within the nebula, we'll move down into the heavier interference and continue the transfer of personnel and supplies we started at our last jump point," began Kelso as he absently reached up and rubbed his aching eyes. "After that…"

Looking across, Kelso could see Cole drifting off again.

Reaching across, Kelso held his fingers a few inches from her face and snapped his fingers, startling her.

Embarrassed, Cole looked across at him rather sheepishly.

"Sorry, Commander."

For his part, Kelso grinned slightly.

"Capshaw?"

"Yes, Commander?"

"Go ahead and advise the fleet; as soon as the Raptors have plotted us a safe route down into the nebula, we'll be holding our position within it for forty-eight hours. When we do, all ship commanders are to start rotating their people for some real rest."

"Aye, Commander."

The relief in Capshaw's voice was as readily apparent as the expression on Ensign Cole's face.

"While I'll be the first to admit that a little rack time sounds good right now, Commander," began Cole even as she fought, in vain, to suppress another yawn. "With the Cylons still out there, is it such a good idea to hang around in one area for so long?"

"The Cylons may be machines, Ensign," began Kelso, smiling slightly. "But we're just plain, simple, _tired_ humans. You can push a man only so far before he begins to break down; as any doctor worth his salt will tell you, coffee and adrenaline can only carry you so far."

Taking a deep breath, Kelso reached up and massaged a kink that was forming in his neck from so many hours spent looking up at DRADIS.

"We need time, and once we're down inside the nebula, the damned Cylons would practically have to fly into us to ever know we were there; good a time as any to get some real sleep, and then take fresh stock of our situation."

Cole nodded.

"Commander, _Proteus_ reports Raptors are up and preparing to commence the survey."

"And the CAP?"

"Six Vipers aloft, starting patrol now, sir. Another twelve are at Ready Five."

"Very well."

With that, Kelso looked up and saw, intermittently through the interference, the icons designating the Raptors and Vipers as they started their separate missions.

"Sometimes the hardest part of war has nothing to do with the fighting itself," began Kelso as he watched the Vipers and Raptors spread out from _Proteus_. "At least when you're in combat, you're occupied, you have focus on an objective. What is most often forgotten, and what historians seldom seem to ever touch upon is the long hours spent waiting, watching, the stretches of boredom that divide those few moments of sheer terror."

Tired as he was, Kelso couldn't be sure if he'd already said as much over the last couple of days to Cole. If he _had_ already given her the speech regarding the 'boring' side of war, Cole gave no note of it. Indeed, from the expression on her face, Cole wasn't taking much note of anything, tired as she was. Nevertheless, she began to nod gently a moment later, indicating that at least on some level his words had managed to pierce the fog of her fatigue.

Looking back up at DRADIS, Adrian Kelso took a long, deep breath, felt the slight churning in his stomach of heartburn, and waited.

* * *

******Battlecruiser _Enceladus  
_****Raptor recon mission rally point  
**

"Time?" burst Colonel Thadius Runel as he stood watching DRADIS, arms folded.

"Six hours, thirty-three minutes, Colonel," replied Lieutenant Thorpe.

"How many Raptors are still overdue, Lieutenant?" asked Runel as he continued to glare up at DRADIS.

"Three, sir."

Runel took a deep breath; three Raptors, six aircrew.

It was possible they were overdue for any number of reasons; mechanical difficulties with their FTL's, navigational error. It was also just as possible that all three had been discovered by the Cylons and wiped out.

Taking a deep breath, Runel found himself surrendering to that last, terrible likelihood.

Nine Raptors had managed to return safely, though with no news on any more possible survivors. As a soldier, he knew from the get-go that sending the ships out on the recon mission had meant that some of them might not come back.

But still, six crewmen had apparently been lost. And worst of all, he would never know exactly why.

"Advise the fleet to prepare to get back underway, Lieutenant Thorpe," sighed Runel as he looked back up at DRADIS. "We'll hold position for seven more minutes then start the clock for the jump out to Leto's Twins."

"Aye, Colonel."

Silent, Runel continued to watch the ship's chronometer as it continued to tick away the last few minutes, apathetic, unyielding.

"Seven minutes, Colonel," called Lieutenant Thorpe.

Taking a deep breath, Runel resigned himself to the situation.

His six pilots were gone.

"Advise fleet to prepare for FTL jump, Lieutenant," sighed Runel, looking down away from DRADIS.

"Aye, sir, starting the clock, FTL jump in…"

A sudden alarm from DRADIS overhead cut off Thorpe's countdown.

His eyes darting back to the screen overhead, Runel caught sight of a single contact. Within moments, the IFF return designated the craft as one of the overdue Raptors.

"It's Raptor Seven-Two-Three, Colonel," called Lieutenant Thorpe.

"Advise all ships; hold jump," snapped Runel as he leaned in over the plot table, his eyes locked on DRADIS. "Any indications the Raptor has been followed?"

"Negative enemy contacts, Colonel," replied Thorpe a moment later.

"Templeton, raise that Raptor on wireless."

"Aye, Colonel."

"Where was Seven-Two-Three scheduled to recon?" asked Runel as he glanced over to Thorpe.

"Flight plan says Seven-Two-Three was assigned to Sagittaron colony, sir."

"Sir, I've got the Raptor on wireless," called Templeton. "Piping it overhead."

Nodding, Runel listened intently as the overhead speakers crackled to life.

"…_say again this is Raptor Seven-Two-Three, I am declaring an emergency_."

"Pipe it here, Mr. Templeton," snapped Runel as he snatched up the handset on the side of the plot table. "This is _Enceladus_-Actual to Raptor Seven-Two-Three; what is the nature of your emergency?"

"_Be advised, our mission was ambushed by two Raiders_," replied the harried voice over the wireless. "_Damage to Port engine, primary hydraulics are failing; my ECO is injured and non-responsive_."

"Copy condition and situation, Seven-Two-Three," replied Runel as he glanced over at Templeton. "_Savitri_ will have a ready deck upon your arrival."

As Templeton nodded and began dispatching the message to _Savitri_, Lieutenant Thorpe quickly made his way over to the plot table.

"Sir, _Savitri_ is at the far end of the formation," began Thorpe as he stepped up next to Runel. "It will take them almost three extra minutes to reach her."

"What do you suggest, Lieutenant?" asked Runel, lowering the handset away from his ear.

"He can be on _our_ deck in under a minute," replied Thorpe flatly.

Glancing up at DRADIS, Runel saw that Thorpe was correct; the Raptor was indeed much closer to the _Enceladus_.

"Advise our hangar deck to make ready for a wounded bird, Lieutenant," called Runel.

Nodding, Thorpe turned and headed back over to the Operations station.

"_Enceladus_-Actual to Raptor Seven-Two-Three, alter your trajectory for priority landing on _Enceladus_," began Runel as he lifted than handset back to his ear, his eyes locked on the wounded ship's icon on DRADIS. "We'll have emergency and medical teams standing by for your arrival."

"_Copy that_ Enceladus_-Actual_."

Hanging up the handset, Runel glanced up at DRADIS and watched as that the Raptor altered its flight path towards _Enceladus_.

"Lieutenant, you have the conn; I'll be down on the flight deck."

"Understood, Colonel."

With that, Runel turned and quickly headed out the entry hatch, breaking into a run as he stepped out into the main corridor.

* * *

"Get a fraking extinguisher on that fire!"

As Colonel Runel stepped out into the main hangar deck, he caught sight of literally dozens of deck personnel swarming in around the visibly damaged Raptor caught up in an emergency arresting net. Smoking, smoldering, the Port engine was a wreck, little more than a few fragments still bolted to the craft's frame.

A shower of sparks erupted from the ship's undercarriage as personnel continued to scramble around it with fire extinguishers. With the forward canopy cracked, Runel had trouble making out movement within the Raptor's main compartment.

Another shower of sparks rained down as the sound of the Raptor's main hatch struggling to open echoed out amid the already chaotic cacophony filling the air.

Finally, the hatch came to a stop, barely half open, a pilot emerged, his helmet removed, hair matted, pulling the still form of another pilot out onto the winglet as a medical team surged forward with a stretcher.

Holding off to one side of the hangar space, Runel was anxious to speak with the Raptor crew, but also didn't want to get in the way. Finally, the medical team managed to drag the unmoving pilot down off the winglet and placed them on the stretcher as the other pilot scrambled clear, practically falling off the winglet onto the hard deck, dashing away from another cascade of sparks from the wrecked Port engine. As it happened, the man managed to scramble up beside Runel, who reached out and grabbed onto the man.

"Lieutenant!" shouted Runel, as much to be heard over the echoing shouts of the deck gang still working to put out the fire as to get the frantic man's attention.

Looking up, eyes wide in near panic, the man nevertheless clutched onto Runel's outstretched hand and was hauled to his feet.

"Never crashed one before," he muttered absently as he reached up and ran a gloved hand through his matted hair.

"Never mind that, what the frak happened?" shouted Runel as he tried to gently shake the man back to coherency.

Ignoring Runel, the pilot caught sight of the medical team as they worked feverishly on the unconscious Raptor crewmember off to one side of the bay. His face contorting a bit, the pilot suddenly bolted over to them.

"How is she?" shouted the pilot as he stood over the stretcher.

"Shrapnel intrusion in the left chest, third degree burns to her face, arms, neck and leg," snapped one of the medics as he began cutting away some of the unburned portions of the flight suit. "Now get the frak back!"

Collapsing down beside the stretcher, the pilot clutched onto one of the unconscious woman's hands.

"Gods, Janice, I'm so sorry, don't fraking die," he began to cry. "Gods, don't you fraking die, please…"

"She's stable, we can move her," snapped one of the medics. "Let's get her to medical."

As the medics began to lift the stretcher up onto an emergency gurney, one of the medics lashed out and shoved the pilot back, apparently the only way to expediently get the half-sobbing man to let go of her hand.

As they rushed the injured woman out of the hangar bay, the deck crew finally managed to get the showers of sparks and smoldering fires out on the Raptor. For his part, the pilot, stunned, simply sat watching his ECO disappear down the corridor, the medics still frantically assessing her as they raced away.

Glancing over at the Raptor, Runel caught site of the deck chief as he simply gave him a thumbs-up; the fires were out.

Taking a deep breath, Runel turned and quickly stepped over to the pilot. Again reaching down, Runel once again hauled the man back to his feet. Taking hold of his shoulders, Runel turned the pilot to face him.

"Lieutenant?"

The man's gaze was still off down the corridor, even though the medical team had long since turned around a corner at the far end.

"Lieutenant!" snapped Runel, finally getting the pilot's attention. "What the hell happened out there?"

His breathing heavy, ragged, the pilot tried to compose himself.

"We…were ambushed," he began, ripping a glove from his hand, then reaching up to rub his eyes. "Two Raiders from our nine o'clock high..."

Taking another deep breath, the man reached up and unzipped the front of his flight smock, revealing the sweat-soaked undershirt underneath.

"They launched three missiles almost before we realized they were vectoring in on us," he continued. "We launched countermeasures, threw off two, but the third detonated close enough that we took some shrapnel. I was still pulling a wide evasive turn when they opened up on us with their guns, took out our Port engine. We spooled up for our jump when Janice's, I mean, Ensign Krieger's panel exploded."

"If you were running dark, how did they zero in on you?" asked Runel.

Hesitant, the man looked at Runel.

"It was my fault, Colonel," he answered flatly.

"How's that?"

"Ensign Krieger picked up a signal from the surface of Sagittaron," began the pilot, momentarily cradling his face in his hands. "I ordered her to send out a response."

With that, the young man again began to sob lightly.

"Fraking Cylons must have picked up the return signal…"

His anger flaring, Runel snatched the pilot up by his smock lapels and slammed him against the bulkhead.

"Your _orders_ were to maintain strict wireless silence!" snapped Runel angrily. "What the _frak_ gave _you_ the authority to counter my orders and break silence?"

"But the signal, sir, from the surface…," groped the pilot, still half-sobbing. "I felt it was important for them to know they'd been received by someone."

"And how the hell do you know who it was you were signaling in the first place," growled Runel angrily. "For all you know, that was a Cylon ploy meant to trick you into giving up your position so they could ambush you _exactly_ the way they just did."

"Their unit call-sign and encryption came back valid, sir," replied the pilot weakly. "I just thought…"

"No, Lieutenant, you _didn't_ 'think'," countered Runel flatly. "That's the problem, you weren't _thinking_ at all when you replied to that signal."

Letting go of the pilot, Runel took a step back.

"And because of that, your ECO may pay for your mistake with her life."

As he stood there, fuming, Runel caught sight of another medical team as they stepped up to assess the pilot himself. Clearly, they'd seen him grab the man up by his uniform, but Runel also clearly didn't care.

The man had violated orders, _his_ orders, and a young woman would now likely lose her life because of it.

"Well, I hope it was worth it to assuage your desire to be a hero, Lieutenant," fumed Runel. "Because if Ensign Krieger dies, her death will be on _your_ head. I suggest you remember that the next time you decide to ignore orders."

Tired, grieving, the man suddenly let out a ragged breath, his eyes suddenly rolling backwards as he unexpectedly collapsed into the arms of the medical team.

"Frak, he's been hit too!" shouted one of the medics as she lowered him onto another stretcher. "Intrusion in his upper back; looks like he took some shrapnel as well."

Stunned, Runel looked over at where he'd slammed the pilot; there was a streak of blood on the bulkhead.

"Get him to medical," snapped Runel.

Instantly, the medical team began rolling the injured pilot down the corridor.

His eyes momentarily transfixed by the bloodstain on the bulkhead, Runel began angrily shaking his head.

"Frak," muttered Runel as he turned and looked over at the wrecked Raptor. "Chief!"

"Colonel?"

"The pilot said his ECO picked up a wireless signal on Sagittaron, I need you to pull the hard drives for the comm system."

"Easier said than done boss, this ship's a wreck."

"Do what you can, Chief, let me know what you find," replied Runel as he turned and set out for CIC. "Hopefully some good can be salvaged from this mess."

* * *

******Warstar _Galactica  
_****Salvage operation of Battlestar _Heracles  
_**

"Once we managed to cut through the main entry hatches, things went pretty smooth," sighed Chief Copeland as she handed a clipboard over to Commander Sean Kelso.

As he began to flip through the pages on the clipboard, Kelso had to admit that Chief Copeland and her growing army of deckhands had managed to recover an impressive amount of materiel in just a few short hours.

No, 'impressive' wasn't exactly the right word, _phenomenal_ felt more appropriate.

And yet even as he flipped through and read along each line item, somewhere in the back of his consciousness, a small voice kept reminding him that there had been a terrible price paid, a sacrifice culled in order to provide them with the materiel they now collected.

From the _Heracles_, there were over thirteen hundred survivors. But nearly eighteen hundred had been lost.

The _Anhur_ had almost twelve hundred survivors. But nearly double that number had perished aboard her.

Between the two ships, the numbers of Vipers and Raptors recovered, in spite of the total destruction of one entire flight pod aboard _Heracles_, gave the new _Galactica_ a respectable air wing, even if it was still barely half the full capacity the ship was meant to carry.

But beyond the numbers of men and fighters, the terrible loss of the _Heracles_ and her battlegroup had yielded them scores of supplies, munitions and fuel that the Warstar needed every bit as much. Thankfully, as he'd hoped, once emergency power had been restored to _Heracles_' logistics transfer systems they'd manage to move a veritable mountain of vital materiel over to the woefully under-provisioned _Galactica_.

Taking a deep breath, Kelso set the clipboard down onto the plot table.

"I see we've had no contact with any of the Cylon Centurions that boarded the _Heracles_."

"No, sir," replied Copeland evenly. "From what we've been able to gather, only a few, maybe four or five, actually managed to push out from the Port flight pod before it exploded. The survivors of the Marine detachment said that two of them made their way up to CIC and assassinated the command staff before they were taken out. The others were stopped trying to penetrate to auxiliary damage control."

"Good damned thing too," sighed Kelso. "If they'd made it there, they could have vented the entire vessel into open space; we'd have found _no one_ left alive."

Pausing, Kelso began lightly drumming his fingers on the plot table.

"Just in case, Major, make sure we have a Marine detail tasked with guarding both fore and aft damage controls as well as the main magazines and fuel storage areas."

"Understood, Commander," replied Major Burke evenly.

"How soon will you have the supplies locked down so we can get back underway, Chief?"

"Within the hour, Commander," replied Copeland.

"Then I won't keep you from your duties any longer, thank you, Chief."

"Sir," snapped Copeland, executing a smart salute, which Kelso casually returned.

As Copeland began making her way back out of CIC, Kelso began absently flipping through the pages once again, his fingers continuing to gently tap on the plot table as he gave the figures another quick once-over.

"I have the final report submitted by our recon Raptor here, Commander," offered Major Burke as she handed a printout to Kelso.

"Go ahead and paraphrase their findings for me," replied Kelso evenly as he continued to look over the manifests compiled by Chief Copeland.

"Crew reported no active contacts at the jump coordinates indicated by the Scimitar's nav computer," began Burke as she glanced over the printout. "The only thing they found was a massive debris field."

"Any definitive identification on the _Pacifica_ or any of the other ships that escaped Sagittaron?" asked Kelso soberly.

"No sir, nothing large enough to identify as such," replied Burke. "Residual debris is consistent with that of a Battlestar-sized vessel and ambient radiation indicates a massive explosion, most likely a large tylium detonation, but nothing to indicate which vessel it might have been."

"No indications of continuing enemy activity in the area?"

"No direct contacts, no, sir."

Taking a deep breath, Commander Sean Kelso digested what Burke had said. While it was clear the Raptor had located the final location of some large destroyed warship, there was no clear evidence that it was _Pacifica_ or any of the other ships that had apparently escaped with her from Sagittaron. But while he could still arguably hold out hope that his father and the other civilians were still managing to elude the Cylons, he did have to concede that the trail to finding them had gone cold.

Letting out a long sigh, Kelso resigned himself to that fact.

"Do we have our jump out to Leto's Twins plotted, Major," asked Kelso as he continued to peruse the sheets.

"We'll be able to execute the jump as soon as we've severed our docking connections with the _Heracles_, Commander," replied Major Burke as she stared down at his tapping fingers.

"Since we have the time, go ahead and go back over the calculations one last time with Lieutenant Cortez," continued Kelso as he let the sheets fall back into place and looked up to her. "Those pulsars put out a lot of hash, DRADIS is going to be practically useless once we near the surrounding nebula, so let's make sure the coordinates are as on the dot as possible."

"Aye, sir."

With that, Major Burke turned and headed off towards the upper gallery to retrieve Lieutenant Cortez.

Watching her go, Kelso half wondering where he stood with Burke after so flatly asserting his authority before. In truth, snapping subordinates around had never been his style of command. Indeed, he'd often been one of the first to mock officers who strutted and preened about, flexing their proverbial command muscle over a subordinate for no other reason than that they could. It was irritating to think that this situation may have put him in a position so outside his norm that he himself may have begun to devolve into such behavior.

Was he trying to put Burke 'in her place' for no reason other than that he was covering up his own insecurities? No, he couldn't let himself dwell on it, not now, not under the current circumstances.

There could be only _one_ Commander. And like it or not, _he_ was it. She had to accept that or the chain of command might break down at the wrong moment.

The entry hatch to CIC parted, breaking Sean Kelso from his train of thought.

Hesitant, a young officer peered in, unsure, even as the Marine outside motioned her towards the plot table. As he watched, the young woman slowly made her way towards the plot table, looking around in what he guessed was mild awe at the surrounding CIC.

"Major Cassiopeia Lefler, reporting as ordered, Commander," she said as she slowly came to attention beside him.

"At ease, Major Lefler," smiled Kelso as he turned around to face her. "According to Chief Copeland, you are the senior-most surviving officer from the _Heracles_, is that correct?"

"It would appear so, yes, sir," replied Lefler evenly. "I guess being the Chief Medical Officer, having my work space buried deep within the hull had its advantages."

There was a hint of guilt in Lefler's tone; many of her colleagues had perished, people she had perhaps known for many years. It was the kind of thing that was probably going to be hard for her to cope with as time went on.

For his part, Kelso felt he could understand that feeling.

With Scorpion Shipyards, his post for most of the last twenty years blasted to debris, it wasn't hard for him to conjure up the image of some friend, some colleague that was now just a memory.

"As the last surviving senior officer, there is one task that I want you to assist me with."

"Of course, Commander," replied Lefler evenly.

"Major Burke, you have the conn, continue preparations for getting underway."

"Aye, Commander."

With that, Kelso motioned for Major Lefler to follow as he made his way out of CIC.

* * *

With the salvage operation all but completed aboard the _Heracles_, Commander Sean Kelso and Major Cassiopeia Lefler saw only a handful of personnel as they made their way along the deserted corridors of the _Heracles_. As he led Lefler back into the bowels of the now-lifeless Battlestar, it wasn't hard to see the questioning look on her face. He hadn't told her yet why he was bringing her back aboard, and to her credit, she simply continued to follow without question.

"Here it is," said Kelso simply as they stepped out into a long corridor.

Long, actually, didn't do the space justice.

The corridor quite literally extended off to the pair's left and right quite nearly beyond their ability to discern.

Every Battlestar, indeed, most every major warship in the fleet had a similar corridor, extending quite literally from one end of the ship to the other; a single corridor used to transfer personnel, bulk supplies, anything that could potentially need to be moved from stem to stern.

Over the years, it had become an informal tradition to dub this main drag with some colloquial name, typically honoring the ship itself in some way. Aboard the _Heracles_, as designated by the simple hand-made sign, this particular strip was known as the '_Heracles_ Highway'.

Turning down the long stretch of corridor, Kelso made his way towards a single object that still managed to glint even in the dull emergency lighting.

It was the ship's commissioning plaque. The large bronze plate, emblazoned with the ship's name, hull number, commissioning date and sponsoring Colony had been bolted in place several years before, in plain sight, for all the crew to see and feel pride in.

Perhaps it was inane whimsy on his part, but as a shipwright, a man who'd spent years assembling mighty warships like the _Heracles_, indeed had actually participated in the construction of _Heracles_ herself, he felt it somehow his duty to honor the ship's sacrifice, especially since that sacrifice now allowed the _Galactica_ a chance to continue the fight.

So it was that as he and Lefler stood before the large bronze plaque, Kelso reached into his pocket and pulled out a large spanner wrench he'd snatched up while passing through the hangar deck. Without saying a word, Kelso handed the spanner wrench to Lefler. Looking first at the wrench, then at the plaque, then back over at Commander Kelso, Lefler hesitated for a moment, then simply nodded.

With all the graceful attention of a physician, Lefler began to unseat the corner bolts holding the plaque in place. Taking great care not to mar the surface of the plaque, she slowly, even tenderly removed each of the four bolts.

When she'd done that, Kelso stepped forward and helped her tug on the plaque until it came free of the bulkhead, the first time it had done so since the vessel had first been placed into service many years before. The dull thunk of the plaque coming free echoed out along the length of the '_Heracles_ Highway', as though it were the dying ship's last heartbeat.

Taking off her uniform tunic, Lefler gently wrapped it around the plaque and tucked it up under her shoulder.

Pausing for one last moment, each taking one last look around at the corridor, the two of them then began making their way back to _Galactica_. As they stepped off the '_Heracles_ Highway', Kelso understood and was humbled by the knowledge that they'd likely be the last human beings to ever do so.

* * *

"Are we ready to get underway, Major?" asked Commander Sean Kelso as he made his way back towards the plot table.

"Affirmative, Commander," replied Burke as she too made her way back down from the upper gallery. "All umbilical support lines and docking connections have been severed; we are free to navigate."

"Very well," replied Kelso evenly as he stepped up, casting his eyes back to DRADIS. "Have the jump coordinates for Leto's Twins been entered into the system, Mr. Cortez?"

"Affirmative, sir," replied Cortez as he made his way over to the FTL station. "The board is showing green, ready to jump on your order, Commander."

"Start the clock, Lieutenant."

"Aye, sir, the clock is running, FTL jump in five, four, three…"

As Lieutenant Cortez counted off the few seconds, Commander Sean Kelso's eyes were intently locked on the DRADIS signatures of the _Heracles_ and her shattered battlegroup.

Their death had provided the Warstar _Galactica_ with the chance to avenge them. He'd considered ordering the derelict hulls completely scuttled, but in the end had decided against it. In truth, a part of him sincerely hoped the Cylons discovered that not all aboard the shattered _Heracles_ and _Anhur_ had perished, that they had a chance to learn that someone had rescued the survivors and had salvaged the supplies.

He wanted them to know that someone still survived to continue the fight. He wanted them to know someone still remained to seek vengeance for the destruction wrought upon the Colonies. And above all, Commander Sean Kelso hoped that knowledge frightened the hell out of them.

"...two, one, jump!"

In an instant, everything around him, including space itself, seemed to both contract and expand. Perceptions mired in three dimensional awareness were altered, the battle of human sight and sensation grappling with the bending, folding, momentary alteration of the very physics of space.

In an instant, the Battlestar _Heracles_ disappeared.

In an instant, Commander Sean Kelso and the crew of the Warstar _Galactica_ took their next step into the uncharted future.

* * *

******Battlestar _Pacifica  
_****Near the twin pulsar formation Leto's Twins  
**

"Contact!" snapped Theo Cullen, his voice cutting through CIC like a searing blade. "DRADIS contact, Commander!"

With a dump of fresh adrenaline coursing into his system, Commander Adrian Kelso looked up at the screen overhead.

Hovering close to the nebula surrounding Leto's Twins, DRADIS was sporadic, but nevertheless, between intermittent flares of interference, one lone icon appeared and began closing in on his small flotilla.

"Action Stations!" snapped Adrian Kelso reflexively.

His eyes never leaving DRADIS, the intermittent signal appearing and disappearing within the soup of the nearby nebula, Kelso mentally conceded after the fact how ridiculous it must have sounded for him to give the order.

_Pacifica_ herself had no weapons, no fighters. Nevertheless, a moment later he heard the overhead warning siren begin to sound.

"Action Stations, Action Stations; set Condition One throughout the ship; this is not a drill," said Theo Cullen as he stood holding a handset to his lips. "All available crew report to emergency damage control stations. Marine detachment; prepare to repel borders."

"Commander, _Proteus_ reports they have broken formation and are turning to intercept the incoming contact," called Aria Capshaw.

"Where's the CAP?" countered Kelso, his eyes never leaving the approaching icon.

"They've already turned to intercept as well, Commander."

* * *

Pete Townsend sat flexing his fingers around the control stick as he nosed his Viper over towards the closing contact.

Five days ago, he'd been lounging on a beach at a Libran resort, drinking ambrosia, lying to a hotel concierge girl about how he was a Caprican business executive on holiday. After spending one hell-of-a night with the young woman at her beachside villa he'd slipped out while she slept and returned to his job at the Sagittaron Reserve Depot.

Now, here it was, five days later, Sagittaron was doubtless entering the early throes of a nuclear winter, the young lady who'd made his toes literally curl with ecstasy as he lay with her was likely dead, and he was sitting in the cockpit of a Viper, turning to engage what was almost certainly a Cylon Baseship.

He half-wished he had another shot of ambrosia there with him in the cockpit.

"Anything to take the edge off," he muttered as he gently adjusted his heading.

"_What's that, Pete_?"

"Nothing," he muttered, shaking his head slightly.

Without realizing it, he had accidentally toggled his thumb over the wireless transmit button.

Looking over, Townsend saw his wingman holding tight formation off his Port wing.

"_You're not losing it over there, are you_?" asked his wingman, Joe Newbold.

"Gods, if I _were_ losing it, don't you think this would be about the right time?" muttered Townsend as he glanced down at the hash obscuring his DRADIS. "It's been fifteen years since I took Viper ACM, nine years since I was even in the fraking Fleet, and now here I am in the cockpit of a Viper rolling in on a Cylon Basestar."

"_Makes your toes curl, doesn't it_?"

"I can think of about a dozen better ways to have my toes curled, Joe," replied Townsend flatly as he once again caught sight of the incoming contact on DRADIS.

* * *

"Status!" called Commander Adrian Kelso as he leaned in over the plot table, his eyes glued to the intermittent signal.

"Contact remains CBDR with the fleet, Commander," replied Theo Cullen. "So far they haven't launched Raiders, but they are coming in hard at flank speed, sir."

"Where's the _Proteus_?"

"They've moved into a defensive position midway between us and the contact, Commander, preparing to scramble the rest of their fighters, primary and secondary batteries are deploying for suppressive barrage."

"Cullen, we need to plot an escape jump, fast," snapped Kelso as he kept a keen eye on the obscured DRADIS overhead. "How long to calculate a jump?"

"To where, Commander?"

"Anywhere but here."

"I'll start calculations now, sir," shot back Cullen as he practically jumped up and raced over to the chart on the upper plot table.

"Capshaw, send out recall signal to all our survey Raptors," continued Kelso. "As soon as Cullen has our jump plotted we're getting the hell out of here."

"Aye, sir."

As Capshaw relayed the message via wireless, Kelso stood gently drumming his fingers on the plot table as he watched the unknown contact continue to close in on the _Proteus_.

"That's a _large_ signature, sir," muttered Ensign Cole. "Do you really think it's a Cylon Basestar?"

"She's not transmitting a Colonial recognition code," replied Kelso as he kept his eyes glued to the overhead screen.

"But why aren't they launching Raiders?"

"With all this DRADIS interference, they might be having trouble getting a firm lock on our ships," said Kelso evenly. "This much hash would play havoc with their Raiders as well, they'll probably hold off launching them until they've closed the distance."

"Won't _Proteus_ have similar problems locking in their counter-battery as well?"

"That they will," conceded Kelso with a slight nod. "But we're not going to stand toe-to-toe with them, we just need _Proteus_ to hold them off long enough to calculate a jump."

"What about our Vipers, sir, what if they get lost in this soup and are unable to return to _Proteus_ before we make the jump?"

"Harsh, terrible reality of combat, Ensign," replied Kelso as he glanced across the table at her. "Sometimes it devolves into a numbers game; we might lose a few pilots, but we need to concentrate on saving the tens of thousands of refugees we're carrying."

Nodding, Cole swallowed hard as she returned her attention to the overhead DRADIS.

"Status of the jump calculations, Mr. Cullen?"

* * *

******Warstar _Galactica  
_****Near the twin pulsar formation Leto's Twins  
**

"Contact!" called Lieutenant Cortez. "Correction, _multiple_ contacts, Commander."

His attention never having left the DRADIS during the jump, Commander Sean Kelso's eyes searched through the sudden interference clouding the overhead screen.

Sure enough, there they were, nearly two-dozen contacts holding low position near the periphery of the pulsar wind nebula surrounding Leto's Twins.

"Sound Action Stations, Major Burke."

"Aye, sir," replied Burke as she snatched up the handset on her side of the plot table. "Action Stations, Action Stations; set Condition One throughout the ship; this is not a drill. Action Stations, Action Stations; set Condition One throughout the ship; this is not a drill. Section heads report to Combat upon manning of Action Stations."

"Helm, bring us around, all ahead flank, close with the main body of the formation," called Kelso as he continued to watch the contacts on DRADIS.

"That many ships, is it wise to take us in so close, Commander?" asked Burke, keeping her voice low.

"At this range with this much interference, gunnery is going to have a hell-of-a time getting firm target locks, and we don't have the ammo to waste," replied Kelso evenly. "Besides which, bringing the ship up to speed, we'll have a better chance to maneuver if they try to flank or bracket us."

Watching DRADIS as the ship came about and began closing in on the small fleet, Sean Kelso gently drummed his fingers on the plot table.

"Mr. Cortez, are you able to cut through the interference at all?" asked Burke as she glanced over to the Lieutenant at his post.

"The radiation from the nebula is playing havoc with DRADIS, Major," replied Cortez evenly. "My guess is that the fleet may be some sort of supply convoy; DRADIS has managed to isolate five capital-grade vessels, the rest are much smaller, possibly transports."

Hearing this, Commander Sean Kelso felt a tingle along the back of his neck.

"Commander, one of the larger ships has broken formation and is closing with us," continued Lieutenant Cortez.

His eyes narrowing a bit, Kelso watched as one of the contacts did indeed turn and begin closing distance with _Galactica_.

Something didn't feel right…

The contact that had apparently turned to engage them was smaller than _Galactica_, much smaller. More to the point, based on the DRADIS returns, it wasn't even the largest vessel of its own formation. Why were the Cylons only turning one ship into the attack instead of meeting him with everything they had?

"Lieutenant Cortez, are we picking up any transponder signals from those ships?"

For a moment, Kelso's question hung over CIC. Considering the horrific breadth of the Cylon attack, the idea that other Colonial units might have survived seemed painfully slim at this point.

"Mr. Cortez!" snapped Kelso. "Do you detect any Colonial transponders within that formation?"

Spurred by the tone of Kelso's voice, Cortez turned back to his station and began an IFF inquiry.

"They're not running with Colonial Transponders, Commander," replied Cortez a moment later.

Overhead, DRADIS let out another series of low alarms.

"New contacts, Commander!" snapped Cortez. "Multiple inbound, separate vectors, already in the air, by their signatures they could be enemy Raiders."

"Why the frak didn't we detect them when they launched?" shot Burke as she too focused back in on DRADIS.

"The interference must have masked their signatures, Major," replied Cortez. "The signal return is still very weak, but I make six contacts on an intercept course."

Snatching up the handset, Commander Sean Kelso toggled the switch for primary fire control.

"This is the Commander; I need a firing solution for those inbound Raiders."

"_Computing fire solution now, Commander_."

With the handset poised against his ear, Sean Kelso watched as the Raiders continued to close in. As he waited for fire control to confirm a firing solution, his gaze wandered around the CIC…

And settled on Celia Harris at the Communications console...

Her expression was one of deep concentration as she pressed her headset close to her ear. Glancing back up at DRADIS, Kelso lowered the handset a bit, hesitant, then looked back over at Harris.

"What have you got, Harris?" he finally called out.

Looking up from her console, Harris seemed surprised that Kelso was addressing her.

"I'm picking up traffic on the short range wireless, Commander," she replied.

"You're picking up on the enemy communications?" asked Burke.

"I don't think so, Major," replied Harris, hesitant. "I mean, the communications are scrambled, but they're on Colonial frequencies."

"_Fire control to CIC, we have a firing solution_," called a voice over the handset in Kelso's hand.

"Standby," he snapped, hanging the handset up a moment later.

Stunned, Burke looked at him from the far side of the plot table. Glaring back at her, Kelso gently shook his head, his expression clear.

_Don't you dare say a damned word_.

Silent, Burke looked back up at DRADIS as the six small contacts continued to close in.

"Raiders will be on us in two minutes, Commander," she said simply.

Ignoring her, Kelso looked over at Harris.

"Harris, issue a hostile challenge to those ships, give our ident and registry and push their response up on the speakers," said Kelso evenly as he too looked back up at DRADIS.

"Attention approaching vessels; this is the Warstar _Galactica_; operational registry Whiskey-Sierra-One-Zero-Zero-One; identify yourselves immediately or we will open fire."

* * *

******Battlestar _Pacifica  
_****Near the twin pulsar formation Leto's Twins  
**

Commander Adrian Kelso stood looking up at DRADIS, thoroughly stunned.

"_I say again, this is the Colonial Warstar Galactica, identify yourselves immediately or we will open fire_."

"What the hell is a 'Warstar'?" muttered Cole as she watched the contact continue to close in on DRADIS.

"I guess we're about to find out," muttered Adrian Kelso as he snatched up the handset on the side of the plot table. "Capshaw, advise _Proteus_ to hold their attack and open a channel to that ship."

"You're on, Commander."

"This is _Pacifica_-Actual, hold your fire, I say again, _hold_ your fire, this is a civilian refugee convoy."

His eyes locked on the DRADIS overhead, handset to his ear, Adrian Kelso waited with baited breath for a reply. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a voice filtered in through the static being put out by Leto's Twins.

"_This is_ Galactica_-Actual_."

At the sound of the voice over the wireless, garbled as it was, but nevertheless familiar, Adrian Kelso felt as though his heart had dropped into freefall within his chest, the hand holding the handset to his ear beginning to tremble.

"This is _Pacifica_-Actual, go ahead, _Galactica_-Actual," he choked out, a lump forming in his throat.

For a moment, there was no response; was he imagining it, was it really his voice?

"_Dad,_" began the voice on the other end hesitantly. "_Is that you_?"

As tears began welling in the corners of his eyes, Adrian Kelso tried to wipe them away with his sleeve.

"Sean?" he muttered, his voice choked.

It was his son, and he was alive.

"Sean, thank the gods, is that really you?" continued Adrian Kelso, uncertain, fearful that it still might not be.

"_Yeah, Dad, it's me_."

As Adrian Kelso fought to contain the flood of emotion washing over him, fought to figure out what to say to the son he had till now thought dead, the old Commander listened as another transmission began filtering in through the speakers overhead.

"_My, gods; Townsend to _Pacifica_, you're not going to _believe_ what I'm looking at out here._"

* * *

Slowly rolling the Viper to Starboard, Pete Townsend sat dumbfounded as he looked out at the massive warship. Although he'd never seen anything like her, the ship was undoubtedly Colonial.

"_Pete, gods, look at the _size_ of her_," muttered his wingman, Joe Newbold. "_Have you ever seen a ship that fraking big_?"

"I didn't think it was possible to _build_ a ship that fraking big," replied Townsend as he looked down along the long axis of the ship.

"_Well I don't know about you, but seeing that ship does make my toes curl_," chuckled Newbold.

Chuckling softly himself, Townsend caught sight of the ship's name emblazoned on the flight pod.

"_Galactica_?" he muttered, reading the ship's name.

"_It's like a dream, isn't it, Pete_?"

"Yeah," he muttered, still awestruck as he continued his pass along the vessel. "Like a dream."

"_Damn, Pete, we might just make it through this mess after all_."


	7. Part 6 - Outside The Box

**Raptor Zero-Seven-Five  
****Final Approach on Starboard flight pod of Battlestar _Pacifica  
_**

Commander Sean Kelso watched as the Raptor lined up for final approach.

Too tense to sit down in the co-pilot seat, he instead stood there between the seats, much to Lieutenant Cetina's consternation, his eyes never leaving the sight of what half his mind still considered a near impossibility.

The Battlestar _Pacifica_, long ago converted into a museum, and now pressed into service to evacuate refugees by the guile and determination of her wartime veterans, had survived the Cylon holocaust.

As the Raptor swept in along the flight deck, settling in over one of the active lifts, Sean Kelso anxiously began to pace the cramped rear compartment.

"With all due respect, Commander," began Ensign Petrovich. "That is getting to be very annoying."

"Just concentrate on getting us aboard, Ensign," sighed Kelso, his own tone a touch irritated. "Last thing we need to do right now is crash."

Within moments, the Raptor had touched down on one of the lifts and begun its descent down into the hangar deck.

While he wasn't quite sure exactly what he'd been expecting to see once the Raptor was aboard, Commander Sean Kelso was nevertheless quite surprised when a team of uniformed personnel rushed forward and moved the Raptor off the lift into the main service hangar.

As the taxiing Raptor was brought to a stop, Kelso began impatiently motioning to Petrovich to open the side hatch.

While Cetina and Petrovich continued to secure the Raptor's systems, Kelso himself ducked out under the still-opening side hatch and out onto the winglet and found himself looking out into the mixed crowd of people that had begun to gather around the Raptor. Uniformed personnel, civilians, men, women, children, literally hundreds of expectant faces stood staring back at him from around the hangar deck. A good number of them looked tired, many more carried expressions filled with sorrow, and yet in their eyes, as they stood looking to him, there also seemed to be what he might almost consider a glimmer of hope.

As he took a few more pensive steps out onto the winglet, Commander Sean Kelso looked up past the surrounding sea of humanity in time to see another uniformed individual quickly making his way down a ladderwell from the upper gantry area.

Hopping down off the winglet, Commander Sean Kelso took a few steps forward as the man just about leapt off the ladderwell and began pushing his way through the crowd.

Within moments, Commander Sean Kelso was face to face with the last person he'd ever expected to see again amid this catastrophe; Adrian Kelso, his father.

For a moment, they both stood there, hesitant, uncertain of what to say, of whether anything in fact needed to be said.

And then, quite deliberately, Commander Sean Kelso raised his hand and saluted his father.

His own hand almost shaking, Adrian Kelso slowly returned the salute, then reached over and practically swept up his son in a firm embrace.

After a few moments, the elder Kelso slowly let go of his son, surreptitiously wiping away the tears welling up in his eyes.

"What the _hell_ are you doing here, Sean?" asked Adrian, his grin ear to ear as he wiped at the tears in his eyes.

"I could ask you the same thing," chuckled Sean as he looked down and noted the uniform his father was wearing. "…Commander."

Glancing down at the uniform he was wearing, Adrian waved dismissively and grabbed his son back up in his arms.

"You don't know how damned glad I am to see you, son."

As the two Kelso's finally composed themselves, Sean Kelso glanced back around at the crowd gathered around them. As he looked over at one of the uniformed crewmen who'd helped move the Raptor off the lift, he finally noted the vessel assignment patch on the man's uniform.

"Battlestar _Vanguard_?" he muttered, glancing back over to his father.

Shrugging slightly, the elder Kelso likewise looked back over to his son.

"We've been a little busy the last couple days," he said simply.

"I can see that," sighed the younger Kelso. "We need to talk."

* * *

**Battlestar _Pacifica  
_****Command Operations Center  
**

As he stood leaning in over the massive operations planning board in the _Pacifica_'s old Command Operations Center, Commander Sean Kelso could hardly believe what he was reading on the printouts his father had given him.

While _Galactica_'s recovery of survivors and materiel from the _Heracles_ and _Anhur_ had been impressive considering the circumstances, what his father and the dedicated veterans and civilians under his ad hoc command had managed to accomplish was nothing short of epic.

With little more than their cunning and will to survive, they'd cobbled together a fleet of derelicts and civilian transports, evacuated literally tens of thousands of refugees from the surface of Sagittaron, carried out the rescue of still more survivors from the wrecked Battlestar _Vanguard_, and escaped.

All right under the nose of the relentless Cylon juggernaut.

While he had always harbored a deep respect for his father's service and accomplishments during the war, with this tangible evidence of his father's command abilities, Sean Kelso was now left nothing short of awed.

As he continued to go through the list of supplies and equipment the refugee fleet had managed to secret away, Sean Kelso heard the main entry hatch open up.

Glancing up from the clipboard, Commander Sean Kelso watched as his father ushered in an entourage of people, some in uniforms, most in civilian attire, presumably the commanders of the other ships.

As the new arrivals settled in around the large situation table, Commander Sean Kelso still felt amazed by what this disparate group had managed to accomplish over the last few days.

With his father settling into place beside him, the elder Kelso quickly went around the room introducing the refugee commanders.

When that was done, taking a deep breath, Sean Kelso looked around at the faces surrounding the table.

"It would seem you have all been quite busy," he grinned.

Thankfully, this managed to elicit the reaction he'd hoped for, a few chuckles and generally a relaxation of the evident tension many of the others around the table clearly carried.

"And while I wish there was adequate time to give due praise to what you've been able to accomplish, I'm sure you'll all agree that time is not on our side."

At that, several of the people assembled around the table nodded their heads in agreement.

"Here's what we know; just over fifty hours ago now, the Cylons returned in force and executed a wide front assault throughout the Twelve Colonies, either destroying or otherwise neutralizing the bulk of our forces," began Commander Sean Kelso. "Reports also show that the Cylons have engaged in massive orbital bombardment of most if not all population centers. All communication links with surface installations locations, military and civilian authorities, even amateur wireless operatores, have been severed."

"That does about sum it up," sighed Adrian Kelso dourly as he leaned in over the plot table.

All around the room, there were others who seemed to agree with little more than a grim nodding of heads, a stoic acceptance of the terrible facts in hand.

"Now, based on this manifest, the _Proteus_ was in the process of being decommissioned, but is in fact still combat-capable, is that correct?" continued Commander Sean Kelso.

"Correct," replied one of the few around the large situation table in a Colonial uniform.

"And you are Major Tyle?" asked Sean Kelso.

"That's correct, Commander," replied the Major evenly. "The _Proteus_ had only just arrived at the Sagittaron depot when the attack began. All of our primary and secondary weapon batteries were still in place, as well as all the launch facilities for Viper operations."

"And how many Viper's are currently embarked aboard _Proteus_?" asked Sean Kelso even as he quickly flipped through the manifests he'd been given.

"We have forty Mark Two Vipers and sixty Mark Six Vipers, all combat ready, transferred up from the depot before we departed Sagittaron," replied Major Tyle evenly as she looked through a small notebook of her own. "We also recovered ninety-two Mark Sevens from the _Vanguard_. But, since we don't know exactly why the Mark Sevens have been shutting down in combat, we've been relying on the Mark Twos and Sixes."

"Good call," sighed Sean Kelso evenly. "What about Raptors?"

"Eleven total, Commander," answered Tyle. "Though there are some Raptors on the other ships as well."

"Well, on the upside, Major, my own people _have_ been able to determine why our systems have been so easily compromised by the Cylons," began Sean Kelso evenly as he looked over at Tyle. "Once we're finished here, I'll have our computer expert, Major Macedo, get in contact with your CAG and Deck Chief on how to bring the Mark Sevens back to combat ready."

"Very well, sir."

"How are you for munitions, both for the shipboard weapons as well as for your air wing?"

"We managed to extract a good amount from the _Vanguard_ in those areas, sir," replied Tyle evenly. "We're not fully topped off, but we could put up some stiff resistance if it came down to it."

"While I appreciate your bravado, Major, let's hope that for the time being we won't have to test it," sighed Sean Kelso as he looked up around to the other assembled commanders. "How are each of your ships set for personnel?"

"All the decoms, _Pacifica_ included, are running short in the engineering and flight deck sections," began Adrian Kelso. "But thus far we haven't run into any problems that are insurmountable."

"And how about the refugees, how are they holding up?"

"Scared, understandably, and packed in pretty tight on some of the ships," replied Director Paul Bess. "Some of our escapes have been pretty narrow, but so far we haven't had many problems with the civilians. Some have even volunteered to assist with the more mundane duties, but most are simply in shock, too stunned to do much more than wait the situation out. We are looking at ways to spread them around a bit more evenly, so they're not packed in as tight. With things as bad as they are, we could be aboard these ships for a while, people are going to need room to settle."

"Agreed, Director Bess, but I'm sure you'll also agree that defense is priority number one right now," sighed Commander Sean Kelso as he scribbled a few annotations down onto his clipboard. "It would be suicidal to dock your ships together unless we have our defenses organized first."

"Absolutely," replied Bess as he nodded his head. "We just have to keep in mind, long term, we're not just dealing with military personnel, we have thousands of men, women and children that don't know the first thing about shipboard life milling about in the corridors."

"I'm sure the unisex heads aren't going to go over well with a good number of them, either," interjected one of the civilian ship masters, the comment eliciting a few chuckles from some of the others around the table.

"No doubt the first of many things to consider," grinned Commander Sean Kelso as he looked out at the assemblage around the table. "Now to the next question I have."

Pausing, Commander Sean Kelso couldn't help but grin a bit wider.

"How in the _hell_ did you find yourselves way out _here_ at Leto's Twins?"

"That was my call," replied his father flatly. "While we were salvaging what we could from the _Vanguard_, DRADIS picked up the intermittent interference being put out by the pulsars."

"And so you thought it might be a good place to hide," finished Sean Kelso, gently nodding his head in understanding.

"Precisely," replied the elder Kelso. "With only one armed ship with us and several boatloads of civvies crammed aboard thin-hulled transports, we figured escape and evasion was the best course of action to take."

"Can't argue with that," muttered Sean Kelso.

"And why exactly did _you_ come out here, Commander?" asked Bess evenly. "As far as any of us were aware, this was just a convenient stellar formation, a place to hide. What would a ship as powerful as yours being doing way out here?"

"With all due respect, Commander, I was wondering that myself," interjected Major Tyle. "In fact, sir, I'm more curious as to where your ship even came from. I've never even heard of a 'Warstar', much less a 'Warstar _Galactica_'."

"Considering how much she cost to build, it _amazes_ me that no one we've come across so far has heard of her," muttered Sean Kelso, his tone almost mockingly indignant. "In any event, the Battlestar _Galactica_ was slated for decommissioning this week, my _Galactica_ was more or less her replacement. We put out of Scorpion Shipyards a couple days ago for initial shakedown trials."

"Do you have a full complement aboard, sir?" asked Major Tyle.

"I hope I don't burst your bubble with this, Major, but no," replied Sean Kelso evenly. "In fact, much like you, most of the crew we currently have aboard were picked up from the _Heracles_ and _Anhur_. We found their battlegroup all but destroyed at one of the emergency rally points listed in our EWO's."

"Fleet Command didn't recall your ship when the attack started?" asked Director Bess.

"The attack was already over by the time the first wireless messages began reaching us at the proving grounds," replied Commander Sean Kelso evenly. "We were over a light-day from Caprica when the attack started, none-the-wiser until it was already over. In fact, we didn't have any idea how bad the situation had gotten until we stumbled across a Scimitar gunship that had jumped out near us by mistake."

"What Scimitar?" asked one of the civilian liner Captains, his name, embarrassingly, escaping Commander Sean Kelso even though he'd only just been told what it was.

"One of yours, actually," replied Sean Kelso as he gestured across to Director Paul Bess. "Apparently they were part of your evacuation effort from Sagittaron."

"So they survived?" interjected the same liner Captain.

"Do you know something about this, Jack?" asked Bess as he looked over to the man.

"When we lifted off from the airfield, the Marines holding down the area were attacked by a force of Centurions," began Captain 'Jack' evenly. "The Marine CO ordered the Scimitar to escort us into orbit, but they turned back to give the Marines on the ground some assistance with breaking the Centurion assault. Last we heard over the wireless they'd broken the attack so that the Marines were able to break contact, after that we lost communications with them."

"That sounds like our wayward bird," nodded Sean Kelso. "After they broke up the ground assault, they tangled with a couple Raiders, dropped one, took some damage, but still managed to execute a jump that brought them out to us."

"Good to know they made it," sighed Captain 'Jack'.

"So you _knew_ we'd managed to escape?" asked Adrian Kelso evenly.

"We knew you'd managed to escape from Sagittaron, yes," replied Sean Kelso evenly. "We even managed to retrieve the initial coordinates you jumped to from the Scimitar's nav computer. We sent a recon Raptor but apparently you'd already moved on."

"How did you figure out we'd jumped here?" asked Bess.

"We didn't, actually," replied Sean Kelso flatly as he looked over at the Bess. "We came out here for an entirely different reason."

"And that is?" asked the elder Kelso, his brow furrowing a bit.

"Torvik," replied Sean Kelso.

Looking around, Commander Sean Kelso could see the name had little if any meaning to any of the assembled ship commanders.

"The Torvik Anchorage," continued Sean Kelso still seeing little comprehension from the assemblage. "Fifteen years ago, the Colonial Fleet built an emergency supply anchorage out here similar to the one in orbit of Ragnar, only much larger."

"We're light-years from the Colonies," interjected another one of the liner Captains. "Why would the fleet put an anchorage way the frak out here?"

"Two reasons," snapped Sean Kelso. "First, Command felt that putting an anchorage this far out opposite of Cylon territory would decrease the likelihood of it being compromised during the early stages of an attack. Second, it was thought that the massive radiant emissions put out by the pulsars would have a debilitating effect on the Cylons if they got close."

"So far it only seems to be playing havoc with our own DRADIS and communications," observed Bess. "If there is a station nearby, how can we possibly make anchorage when we can't even navigate towards it?"

"We have the coordinates for the Torvik Anchorage aboard the _Galactica_," answered Sean Kelso as he glanced around at the assemblage. "As soon as we're done here, we'll can pull the fleet back out of the nebula enough to regain our navigational fix, then we'll set course for the entry corridor with your ships in trace."

"Supply-wise, how much materiel are we talking about here?" asked Bess evenly. "From what I recall, the Ragnar Anchorage only had enough materiel to service maybe, what, one Battlestar Group?"

With that, Sean Kelso smiled.

* * *

"I wish I could have gotten a picture of your faces," chuckled Sean Kelso as he and his father stepped out into the corridor.

The other ship commanders had already filtered out of the Command Operations Center and were doubtless on their way back to their respective ships.

"Well what did you expect?" replied Adrian Kelso as he reached over and placed a hand on his son's shoulder. "My gods, four Battlestar Groups worth of materiel, hell, you might as well have told them there were four brand-new Battlestars waiting at anchor."

"Well, we haven't reached the anchorage yet," stated Sean evenly as he continued on down the corridor. "I wouldn't dare say as much in there, but we do have to be prepared for the possibility that Torvik could have been compromised."

"If you believe that, why bother coming out here?"

Taking a deep breath, Sean Kelso looked over into his father's eyes.

"Arrogance," he finally said.

"Who's arrogance, exactly?"

"The Cylons," continued the younger Kelso as he made a turn he knew would eventually lead him back down to the hangar deck. "They've managed to hit us so hard, devastate our civilization so completely with their attack; flush with victory they might just overlook Torvik's existence."

"And you're betting that since they've managed to eviscerate our fleet, they won't bother with the depots because there should be no ships left to reach them."

"Efficient as they are, the Cylons are merely machines with one obvious, overwhelming flaw, Dad," continued the younger Kelso.

"And that is?"

"_We_ built them," answered Sean flatly. "They might think of themselves as perfect, but they can't escape that one truth; we _flawed_ humans are the reason they exist, which means, by definition, they are also flawed."

"You seem to have this pretty well planned out, son," he muttered, glancing over at his son, grinning.

"Hardly," scoffed Sean. "Something else I would never have said in there, but I'm making this up as I go."

"Whoa now, just stop for one second," said Adrian Kelso as he over and took hold of his son's arm, stopping him in the center of the corridor.

As Sean turned back to his father, he noted the curious smirk on the elder Kelso's face.

"What makes you any different from any other battle commander in history?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You said you were making this up as you go as if every other commander in history knew step for step what they were doing when they sailed into harm's way," countered the elder Kelso, crossing his arms slightly. "If I've never told you this before then let me take this opportunity to set you straight on the dirty little secret carried by everyone who's ever had the conn during a firefight; we were _all_ making things up as we went."

Chuckling slightly, it took Sean Kelso a moment to read through his father's expression and realize the elder Kelso was being absolutely serious.

"Haven't you ever heard the expression that no plan ever survives the first contact intact?" asked Adrian Kelso evenly.

Nodding his head slightly, Sean Kelso took half a step back to allow two crewmembers by.

Looking about, the elder Kelso noted that several more crewmembers were approaching, a large pallet of supplies in tow.

Glancing over his shoulder, Adrian noted that he and his son were right beside an old weapons locker which under the circumstances would likely be empty.

Reaching over, the elder Kelso gave the entry hatch a shove and motioned with his head for his son to follow him inside. As Sean stepped inside the dimly lit space, Adrian closed the hatch and locked it.

Turning back, the elder Kelso once again folded his arms.

"Now, where were we?"

"No plan ever survived the first contact intact," answered his son dutifully, smirking slightly.

"Oh, yeah," muttered the elder Kelso, chewing a bit on his inner lip. "A bit simplistic sounding perhaps, but not very far off the mark. Manuals, battle tactics, drills, preparations, these are all just tools; _nothing_ ever really prepares you for real combat, son."

"Maybe, but I am literally outside my element here, Dad," replied Sean evenly. "I'm an Engineer, not a line officer. My XO would likely be glad to point that out for you were you to ask."

"Frak him, I don't care about his opinion," burst the elder Kelso.

"Her," corrected Sean with a smirk.

"Sorry?"

"_Her_, Dad; my XO is of the double-X chromosome persuasion," stated Sean.

"Oh, well, in that case, frak _her_ opinion," continued Adrian stubbornly. "In any event, it's irrelevant. My point is this; we can train, we can study, but when the bullets start to fly, what counts is the character of the person at the top."

"And what if I'm not the right person?" asked Sean as he leaned against the bulkhead.

Adrian Kelso paused, his expression curious.

"And what would make you think that, Sean?"

"If I hadn't been in command of _Galactica_, by pure chance, I'd have died with everyone else at Scorpion Shipyards," replied Sean evenly.

"And if we hadn't been aboard the _Pacifica_, _by pure chance_, as you so eloquently put it, we'd all be dead too," countered Adrian. "Let me try and put this as simply as I can; when you learned about the attack, what was your first thought?"

"Fear."

"Perfectly normal; next thought after that one?"

"That I needed to locate other survivors and get _Galactica_ into the fight."

"Exactly my point," continued Adrian Kelso evenly. "You could have simply sat out there waiting for orders that were never coming or for the Cylons to find you, but you didn't; you _acted_. Seems so simple, but when it means risking one's own survival, sometimes making a choice is the _only_ difference between a leader and follower."

"And if I were to ask you what I should do now, what would you say?"

"I would say that what I think doesn't matter."

"Fine, what does your _experience_ say I should do?"

"You already know the answer."

"Do I?"

"Sean, I could give you my advice, I could even try and tell you what you should do, but why would I?" continued Adrian as he reached up and massaged a knot in his shoulder. "The only thing that matters now, _right now_, is that _you_ are now in command of this fleet."

"I'm sorry?" muttered Sean Kelso, pushing off the bulkhead slightly.

"You heard me."

"Dad, this is _your_ fleet; you are the senior-most…"

"No," snapped Adrian Kelso flatly.

With his father's tone coming across like a crisp slap to the face, Sean Kelso stood there looking over into his father's resolute stare.

Taking a breath, Adrian stepped closer, reached across, and grabbed hold of his son's shoulders.

"You are in command, Sean," began Adrian, looking his son squarely in the eye. "It doesn't matter how, or why, the only thing that matters is what you plan to do with that fact; will you act, or not?"

"And if I do act, what makes you certain that I will make the right choices?"

"Because," began the elder Kelso, smiling slightly as he gave Sean's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "You're my son."

* * *

**Warstar _Galactica  
_****Nearing the entry corridor to Torvik Anchorage  
**

As he made his way through _Galactica_'s corridors back to the CIC, Commander Sean Kelso continued to digest what his father had told him, his father's words echoing around in the thoughts ever since he'd climbed aboard the Raptor for the flight back from _Pacifica_.

Rounding the last corner, Commander Sean Kelso looked up at the Marine posted outside CIC. As he stepped up, the Marine dutifully reached over and began to open the CIC hatch only to have Commander Kelso motion for him to stop.

As Commander Kelso simply stood there looking at him, the Marine likewise looked back over at him, his expression uncertain, curious.

"What's your name, Corporal?" asked Kelso evenly.

"Daniels, Commander."

"Corporal Daniels, can I ask you a question?" sighed Kelso as he took a tentative step closer.

"Yes, sir?"

"Did your parents object at all when you told them you were enlisting?"

"My parents, sir?"

"Yes, your parents, what did they say when you told them you were joining the military?"

"They thought it was a mistake, sir," shrugged Daniels, his expression still somewhat perplexed.

"Can I ask why?"

"My father served as a unit priest with the Marines during the war," replied Daniels evenly. "I guess he didn't want me to ever see some of the things he did."

"Why did you enlist then?"

"College, sir," replied Daniels, smiling slightly. "Tuition fees are high for a priest's salary; the Fleet offered to pay my way after my term of service was up, so I signed up."

"What did you plan to study?"

"Actually, I'd thought about being a teacher, sir," replied Daniels.

"A teacher, really, what subject?"

"Primary school, actually," said Daniels, smiling slightly himself. "I don't know why, but I've always liked being around kids; kind of enjoyed the thought of maybe even being able to teach my own kids one day."

All of the sudden, the smile on Daniels' face began to fade.

"Don't suppose there's much chance of that now though, Commander."

Reaching over, Kelso gave Daniels' shoulder a quick pat.

"Don't count us out of the fight yet, Corporal."

Pausing one last moment, Kelso gave Daniels a reassuring smile, before turning to open the CIC hatch.

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

"If I may ask, Commander, why did you want to know?"

Smiling, Kelso looked back over at Daniels.

"Chances and choices, Corporal Daniels, just wanted to know why you were here."

"I'm not sure I understand, sir."

"It's not important, Corporal," sighed Kelso as he looked at the formidable looking door leading into CIC. "Just don't give up on your plans, there are a lot of children among the refugees; when this all plays out, they'll still need a teacher."

With one last pat of Daniels' shoulder, Commander Sean Kelso reached over and opened the hatch into CIC.

Stepping in, he glanced around CIC, then made his way quickly over to the plot table.

Without a word, he stepped up to the table and cast his eyes towards the overhead DRADIS screens. Although they'd pulled back out of the nebula, there was still a good amount of interference on DRADIS, nevertheless, a neat formation of ships, the refugee fleet, could be seen holding tight astern of _Galactica_.

"Status, Major Burke?"

"All systems nominal, Commander," began Burke as she looked across the plot table at him. "We are approaching the entry corridor; ETA ten minutes."

"Has Major Macedo finished retrofitting the Mark Seven Vipers with the software from the older ships?"

"Affirmative, Commander, all ships are now operational in case we run into the Cylons."

"Very well."

His eyes still locked on DRADIS, Kelso kept his eyes on the trailing refugee fleet.

_His_ fleet.

While he had to admit that having another combat-capable ship, the _Proteus_, now at his disposal was heartening, he still felt daunted by the idea that the survival of tens of thousands of people, potentially the last humans left alive, now rested on his decisions.

"Have we plotted out the entry corridor to Torvik Anchorage?" asked Kelso evenly as he glanced across to Burke.

"Lieutenant Cortez has all turn points plotted, Commander," replied Burke. "However, with a ship this big, we'll have very little room for error after we enter the corridor. Assuming the charts we have aboard _are_ accurate, we should be able to navigate the full length of the corridor in a little over three hours."

"Then prepare to thread the eye of the needle, Major," said Kelso as he cast his eyes back up to DRADIS.

* * *

**Battlecruiser _Enceladus  
_****Raptor recon mission rally point  
**

"Colonel, all stations, all ships report ready for jump," called Lieutenant Martin Thorpe.

"Very well," replied Runel evenly as he looked up from the lone printout he was holding. "Start the clock, Lieutenant."

As Thorpe began to call off the FTL checklist, Runel looked back down at the printout.

In spite of the extra time he'd afforded them, the two remaining overdue Raptors had not reported in.

But as disheartening as that fact was to him, the report he'd just received from sickbay was even more so.

Ensign Janice Krieger, the ECO from the shredded Raptor that had barely made it the deck of _Enceladus_, was recovering from a long list of injuries; extensive burns, a punctured lung, multiple fractures. Her prognosis for recovery was generally fair, though she'd never be able to fly again.

Lieutenant Al Crandle, the pilot who'd violated Runel's orders and placed the Raptor in jeopardy in the first place, ended up being the one who'd paid the steeper price, dying on the operating table less than an hour ago. According to Doc Branford, the shrapnel that had ripped into the brash young pilot had lacerated his aorta; he'd simply lost too much blood by the time he'd smeared the wounded Raptor's nose across _Enceladus_' hangar deck.

The one factor that prevented the entire affair from being an unmitigated disaster was that the Raptor's communication logs did indeed indicate bonafide contact with survivors on the surface of Sagittaron. Unfortunately, even perversely, rather than clearing his conscience, knowing that there were in fact men and women still alive on the surface of Sagittaron actually made things more difficult. Beyond delivering back the wireless intercepts, the demolished Raptor's DRADIS logs quite clearly showed the formidable Cylon forces that lay between him and those survivors.

Six confirmed Basestars sat in orbit around Sagittaron, with hundreds of patrolling Raiders near each Basestar.

With only a battered battlecruiser, two destroyers and a lone Combatstar to oppose that much enemy hardware any attempt on his part to execute a rescue would be tantamount to suicide.

Taking a deep breath, Colonel Runel lay the lone sheet down onto the plot table, casting his eyes up towards the overhead DRADIS as Lieutenant Thorpe called off the last few moments to the FTL jump.

As the disorienting sensation of the jump itself came and went, seemingly abating more quickly with each successive jump, Runel simply blinked his eyes to overcome it as the DRADIS overhead became obscured.

"Jump completed, Colonel, we are now within nominal range of Leto's Twins," called Lieutenant Thorpe.

"Very well, Lieutenant, prepare to plot…"

Overhead, DRADIS suddenly let out a low alarm, cutting off Runel mid-sentence.

"Contact!" shouted Lieutenant Thorpe, his voice cutting through CIC as he bolted back over to the Operations console. "Correction; _multiple_ contacts, Colonel!"

Overhead, through the hash of interference, Runel was barely able to discern the contacts themselves, but nevertheless felt a surge of adrenaline at the sight of the intermittently appearing icons labeled 'unknown'.

"Lieutenant Thorpe, initiate an IFF interrogation," snapped Runel.

"IFF is negative, Colonel," replied Thorpe almost instantly. "We're not picking up any active Colonial transponder signals from the formation."

Snatching up the handset on the side of the plot table, his other hand toggled the switch for the ship's overhead One-MC.

"This is CIC, all hands, man Action Stations," snapped Runel as he continued to focus in on the intermittent signals on DRADIS. "Battery plot prepare firing solution, all main batteries, for ship-to-ship engagement; suppressive batteries prepare to repel Raider assault. Away all DC, medical and Marine teams to your assigned sections."

As Runel reached down to hang up the handset, Petty Officer Templeton called out to him from the communications station.

"Sir, I have a Priority Communiqué from _Savitri_-Actual for you."

"Pipe it here," sighed Runel as he lifted the handset back to his ear. "Make this quick _Savitri_-Actual."

"_Your orders, sir_?" snapped Colonel Webber over the wireless.

"Three fold," replied Runel flatly. "One; have your Tac Ops Officer begin plotting an escape jump. Two; prepare all your birds for immediate sortie in case they come at us with more Raiders than triple-A can handle. And three; be prepared to initiate full battle maneuvers on my order."

"_Copy that_," said Webber simply a moment before terminating the connection.

As he slowly reached down to hang up the handset, Runel couldn't help but be slightly taken aback at how Colonel Webber had simply accepted his orders without argument.

She'd _never_ just taken his word without an argument, especially not while they were a couple.

Cutting through his distraction, the overhead DRADIS began chiming for his attention.

"Colonel, looks like one of the ships has broken formation and is turning to close with us," called Lieutenant Thorpe.

"Lieutenant, I need you to cut through this hash and give me a clear picture of what we're dealing with out there," snapped Runel as he glared up at the interference on DRADIS.

"Colonel, this close to the pulsars and surrounding nebula, getting a firm lock is going to be difficult."

"Don't tell me what you _can't_ do, Lieutenant, show me what you _can_ do," snapped Runel, his acid glare never leaving the screen overhead.

Seconds continued to tick away as Lieutenant Thorpe feverishly began attempting to adjust DRADIS for a clearer image.

"Lieutenant?"

"Colonel, confirm one contact CBDR, estimate it will reach maximum engagement line in nine minutes," replied Thorpe. "Remainder of the formation is maintaining their original heading near the nebula perimeter."

"Number, type and heading, Lieutenant," snapped Runel as he glanced over impatiently at Thorpe.

"Six capital-size warships, fourteen smaller ships, possibly transports," replied Thorpe. "Course projection shows them heading towards the entry corridor for the Torvik Anchorage."

"Do any of the ships match the DRADIS profile of any of the Cylon vessels we've encountered so far?"

"Inconclusive, Colonel," replied Thorpe, shaking his head slightly as he continued, fruitlessly, to adjust DRADIS.

Taking a deep breath, Runel glared back up at the screen overhead.

If they were Cylons, then they not only had Runel's battlegroup outnumbered, but they'd also blocked off any chance of reaching the badly needed supplies stored at the Torvik Anchorage.

Nevertheless, Runel noted that even with the numerical advantage, the Cylons had apparently only committed one warship to engaging his ships.

Why?

To be sure, the vessel that was closing with them had the largest DRADIS signature he had ever seen before, but why would the Cylons hold back the bulk of their forces, why not just attack in force and wipe them out?

And then it hit him; the fourteen smaller ships, the ones Thorpe thought were transports, they must be carrying something vital, something the Cylons _really_ wanted to protect.

And by default, anything the Cylons wanted to protect that badly was something he wanted to destroy even more.

"Get me the other ship commanders," snapped Runel as he snatched back up the handset.

"You're on, Colonel," replied Templeton a moment later. "_Savitri_, _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_ all on the wireless."

"_Enceladus_-Actual to _Savitri_, has your Tac-Officer completed calculating our escape jump?"

"_Affirmative,_ Enceladus_-Actual_," replied Colonel Webber over the wireless.

"Good, because we're going to need to get out here pretty quick before too long," replied Runel as he looked back up at the closing contact on DRADIS. "Here's the deal, the Cylons are only committing one ship to engage us; as I see it there must be something they're trying to protect on those smaller vessels."

"_And anything with that many capital grade vessels protecting it is a target worth taking down_," interjected Colonel Webber thoughtfully.

"Precisely."

"_How did you want to proceed_?" asked _Ikenga_'s CO, Major Jasper.

"Three prong attack," snapped Runel as he watched the large contact continue to close in. "_Savitri_ will maneuver around astern of their formation; hold off launching your air wing until you've closed to well within their air-defense envelope."

"Understood."

"I want the _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_ to break off and maneuver in forward of their advance," continued Runel. "Cross their T and hit them hard with a full broadside down along their formation."

"_Copy that, _Enceladus."

"Remember, avoid the capital vessels as best you can; your targets are those transports," said Runel as his gaze shifted hungrily to the formation of small ships.

"_And what about you,_ Enceladus-_Actual_?" asked Colonel Webber pointedly.

"Someone's got to draw away that big mother-fraker bearing down on us," replied Runel flatly as his eyes returned to the large contact, now only six minutes away from engagement range. "_Enceladus_ is going straight up the gut at flank speed; ship that big, I can't imagine they'll be able to come about very quickly once we sail by."

"_Good luck,_ Enceladus-_Actual_," sighed Webber.

"To us all," replied Runel simply. "Go with the gods, and we'll see you on the other side. _Enceladus_, out."

As he hung the handset back up, Runel felt his mouth going dry.

Adrenaline; fear; resolve…

Taking a deep breath, he braced himself for what he was about to do.

If by the grace of the gods his battlegroup was able to pull off this attack, and it was by no means certain that they could, they'd potentially be striking a damaging blow to the Cylons. If they _didn't_ survive, then at least they'd go down fighting. One thing was for certain; after nearly three days of retreating and evading, Colonel Thadius Runel was tired of running.

"We've received the escape jump coordinates from the _Savitri_, Colonel," called Lieutenant Thorpe. "_Savitri_, _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_ have broken formation with us and are maneuvering in accordance with your battle orders."

"Helm, bring us around to engage the closing enemy contact," called Runel as he slowly stood up ramrod straight at the plot table. "Increase to flank speed."

Pausing, Runel took a moment to look around the CIC, look into the eyes of his crew, and while he saw fear in them, he also determination; clearly they too were tired of simply running.

"Adjust course to take us close to redline; minimum engagement distance," continued Runel. "I want to be so close they'd be able to look out a window and see the rivets in our hull."

"Aye, Colonel," replied Petty Officer Pardi, no hint of hesitation in her voice.

"Advise all main batteries to prepare full barrage, hot load, AP ordnance only," said Runel as he returned his eyes to the DRADIS screen overhead. "Let's bring the fight to _them_, people."

* * *

**Warstar _Galactica  
_****Nearing the entry corridor to Torvik Anchorage  
**

"Colonial?" muttered Commander Sean Kelso, his eyes still locked on the contacts spreading out across the DRADIS overhead. "Are you certain, Lieutenant Cortez?"

"Confirmed, sir," snapped Cortez. "I can't run a full verification because we don't have the latest recognition codes in our database, but their navigational registries tag them as Colonial."

"If they're Colonial, why are they breaking off into an attack spread?" asked Major Burke as she leaned in over the plot table.

Glancing across to Burke, Commander Sean Kelso thought about it, then glanced back up at DRADIS.

The decommissioned ships didn't have any active transponder systems, and the civilian transports had all turned theirs off to decrease the likelihood of detection.

Even _Galactica_'s own transponder wouldn't tag her as a Colonial Warship to any other fleet vessel; until she was commissioned, only her civilian-registered navigational tag would be detected. And like the civilian transports, _Galactica_'s nav-transponder was turned off.

"Frak," he muttered, visibly surprising Major Burke. "Harris, get on the wireless and order the civilian ships to reinitialize their transponders and then hail the closing ships over the wireless."

"Aye, Commander," replied Harris as she set about the task.

Within moments, Kelso watched as the transponders aboard the civilian transports began reactivating one-by-one, their 'unknown' labels changing to their civilian registries.

Reaching down, Kelso picked up the handset on the side of the plot table, motioned for Harris to open the wireless channel he'd asked for, then raised the handset to his ear.

"This is Warstar _Galactica_, to the approaching Colonial warships," began Kelso evenly, fighting to keep his voice even as he cast his eyes back towards DRADIS. "Do not attack, I say again, _do not attack_, this is a friendly convoy carrying civilian refugees."

With baited breath, Kelso watched DRADIS, waiting, hoping for a response.

If the approaching ships had heard his transmission, they gave no indication, they simply continued to fan out.

"I say again, to the approaching Colonial warships, this is the Warstar _Galactica_, cease your advance and respond immediately."

Again, he waited; again, the ships did not change course.

"Why won't they answer?" muttered Burke as she scowled up at the screen overhead. "Is it possible this is some sort of Cylon trick?"

"Possible, Major, but why would the Cylons _need_ to trick us?" countered Kelso evenly as he continued to watch the contacts spread out. "With most of the fleet destroyed, they could simply mass their forces here for an all out attack if they wished, why bother trying to deceive us?"

Nodding her head slightly, conceding to his point, Burke nevertheless kept her eyes glued to DRADIS.

"Maybe I should try something more direct," he muttered, moving the handset mic back to his lips. "This is Commander Sean Kelso, Colonial Fleet Serial Number Four-Zero-Four-Three-Two-Seven, to the approaching Colonial warships; I know you can hear me, I know you can see the transponders on the civilian ships, break off your attack and respond on this channel immediately or we will be forced to open fire on you."

Glancing across to him, Burke was visibly surprised.

Matching her gaze, Kelso continued to wait.

On the speakers overhead, the gentle crackle of static suddenly gave way to a voice.

"_This is the Colonial Battlecruiser _Enceladus," began the firm voice on the other end of the wireless. "_If you are who you say you are, and I have my doubts, authenticate ident with Colonial recognition codes immediately_."

At that, Kelso let out a long sigh.

"_Enceladus_, be advised we do not have the recognition codes you reques…" began Kelso evenly.

"_Then be advised, we will _not_ break off our attack_," replied the voice evenly.

"With whom am I speaking?"

"_I'm not at liberty to divulge that information_," replied the voice flatly.

"Commander, if that ship at their center does not break off, they'll be within engagement distance in less than four minutes," muttered Burke evenly.

Nodding slightly, but nothing more, Kelso kept his eyes keenly locked on the closing contacts.

"Since you'll be within weapons range in four minutes, let me make this point as bluntly as I possibly can," began Kelso. "Unless you break off your attack, you will be firing on friendly forces, more importantly, you will be firing on _unarmed_ civilian transports carrying tens of thousands of refugees. Break off your attack!"

"_Unless you provide me with properly authenticated recognition codes with your next transmission, that will not happen_," replied the voice on the wireless flatly.

"Gods dammit, listen to me…" began Kelso angrily, a split second before he heard the speakers overhead go silent.

"They've cut the transmission, Commander," called Harris.

Looking up at DRADIS, then at the handset in his hand, Kelso slowly placed the handset back in place, leaned in over the plot table, and took a deep, steadying breath.

"Three minutes to engagement range, Commander," said Burke.

Looking up at her, then around at the crew in CIC, Kelso stood up, folded his hands behind his back, then looked back up at DRADIS.

"Sound Action Stations, Major," he said evenly.

Shocked, Burke simply stared at him for a moment.

"Major, I gave you an order," said Kelso as he looked across the plot table at her.

"Aye, sir," she muttered.

Reaching down, Major Burke lifted the handset on her side of the plot table to her ear, took a breath, then toggled the switch for the One-MC.

"This is CIC, all hands, Action Stations," she began, her voice strained. "I say again, Action Stations, set Condition One throughout the ship; secure all hatches and egress points; bring main and secondary batteries online and prepare to attack."

As the overhead alarm began to echo throughout CIC, throughout _Galactica_, Burke gently lowered the handset back to its place, and then looked back across at Kelso.

"Do you really intend to engage them, Commander?" she asked evenly.

"Unless they break off their attack, they leave me with no choice, Major," replied Kelso as he returned his gaze to DRADIS. "There are over thirty-two thousand civilians on those refugee ships."

"Main and secondary batteries have been deployed, Commander," called Lieutenant Cortez. "Flight deck reports all active Vipers manned and ready to deploy on your order."

"Very well," replied Kelso evenly, closing his eyes for a moment before looking back across at Burke.

"Sir?" muttered Burke weakly, her eyes darting back and forth between the Commander and the screens overhead.

"We _can't_ let them fire on those transports, Major," said Kelso evenly his eyes not leaving the screen overhead. "It's as simple as that. Even if it costs us the _Galactica_ herself, those civilian ships have to survive."

Swallowing hard, Burke glanced back up at DRADIS, back up at the fellow Colonial warships arraying themselves to wipe out the civilian refugee fleet.

"Aye, sir," she said simply.

* * *

**Battlecruiser Enceladus  
****Nearing the entry corridor to Torvik Anchorage  
**

"Sir, the civilian transponders _are_ in our system," said Lieutenant Thorpe evenly as he glanced up at DRADIS.

Beside him, Colonel Thadius Runel stood with his hands clasped behind his back.

"But those are only on the small transports," replied Runel evenly. "There are still six capital-grade vessels out there that aren't squawking at all, including the one bearing down on us right now."

Taking a deep breath, Runel looked over at Thorpe. There was doubt in the young officer's eyes. To be sure, there was doubt creeping in at the corners of Runel's own thoughts.

But doubts got people killed.

"No, Lieutenant," he muttered evenly. "If they can't provide us with the proper recognition codes, I _must_ assume those are enemy ships out there. Computer problems aside, we have no way of knowing whether the Cylons managed to use a ruse like this against other elements of the fleet during the initial attack."

Looking back up at DRADIS, Runel wrung his fingers together as he took a deep steadying breath.

"Prepare to fire full salvo from main batteries," called Runel. "Rapid dominance, people, let's try and stun them with our first barrage and continue on to the prime targets."

Without a word, Lieutenant Thorpe turned and began making his way back over towards the Operations console.

"Two minutes to engagement range, Colonel," stated Thorpe evenly as he dropped back into his seat.

* * *

**Warstar _Galactica  
_**

"Frak," muttered Kelso bitterly.

In less than two minutes the closing ship would be in range to lay down a devastating barrage against _Galactica_.

Large though she may be, damage was damage, and people, _his_ people, would be wounded and killed.

"Prepare for full counter-barrage," stated Kelso evenly.

"Sir, _Proteus_-Actual is requesting instructions," called Harris. "Do you want them to turn and engage as well?"

"Negative," snapped Kelso. "They are to hold position with the fleet. Order _Proteus_ to launch all available Vipers and deploy them in an air-defense posture around the civilian fleet, but they are _not_ to leave that formation."

* * *

**Battlestar _Pacifica  
_**

"My gods, I can't believe this is happening," muttered Ensign Cole as she watched the contacts on DRADIS draw ever closer. "The civilian transports have their transponders on now, gods damn; can't they _see_ we're Colonials as well?"

"Without transponders on the decoms and no warship recognition codes to transmit to them, they have no way of verifying that, Ensign," replied Adrian Kelso soberly as he watched his son's ship continue to close with the other Colonial ship advancing in the center.

They'd monitored the wireless transmission between _Galactica_ and _Enceladus_, for all the good that had come of the exchange. He'd even fought the urge to break in over the channel himself, thinking maybe his 'renowned' status as a Cylon War icon might do some good.

But no…

If the commander of the opposing Colonial warships was intent on carrying out his attack, then nothing short of full, by-the-book protocol would deter him.

"We have to do _something_, sir," said Cole, her voice almost pleading.

Looking across at her for a moment, seeing the near-desperation in her eyes, Adrian Kelso truly wished there was something he could do.

But, then again, maybe there was…

"Capshaw, get on the wireless," he snapped, glancing over his shoulder to his old Communications operator. "Order _Asterica_, _Limnos_ and _Kilkis_ to redeploy as best they can in a protective sphere around the transports. Our hulls are armored, can sustain more damage, maybe it will buy some time in case this madness gets out of control."

"Aye, Commander."

* * *

**Warstar _Galactica_**

"Sir, the decoms are redeploying around the transports."

"Very well," replied Sean Kelso.

It had to be his father's doing, he knew, redeploying the armored decoms to protect the civilian transports, but Commander Sean Kelso simply didn't have time to muddle with the details of it.

"One minute to engagement range," said Burke, reflexively gripping onto the plot table, bracing for ordnance impacts she was sure were about to come.

It was then that Commander Sean Kelso realized that he was doing the same thing as well.

Seconds continued to tick away, precious time; did he truly have the will to fire on fellow Colonials? Would they truly be leaving him with any alternative if they carried out their attack on the civilians?

There had to be another way…

"Frak it; helm, nose about hard a-Starboard," he snapped. "Keep us just outside their engagement range, wide turn, bring us back around in behind them after they pass."

"You're going to let them sail by, Commander?" asked Burke. "If we turn, we might not be able to catch back up to them before they've closed to engagement range on the civilians."

"Would you rather I fire on them?" replied Kelso flatly as he felt the massive ship begin to turn beneath his feet.

Turning away with little more than seconds to spare, _Galactica_ and _Enceladus_ remained just outside one another's weapons range as the Warstar began her wide turn away from the approaching Colonial warship.

* * *

**Battlecruiser _Enceladus  
_**

"Sir, their turn _will_ bring them back in to our stern," called Lieutenant Thorpe.

"Maybe, but not before we've reached the primary targets," replied Runel evenly as he watched the massive ship turn away on DRADIS.

In spite of his even tone, Runel's doubt only deepened.

Why had they turned away? If they _were_ Cylons, _why_ turn away?

"Status of the fighters deployed around the convoy?" called Runel as he kept his eyes locked on DRADIS.

"Still holding air-defense positions around their fleet, sir," replied Thorpe, glancing over at Runel.

"Time to intercept of the main body?"

"Three minutes, sir."

* * *

**Warstar _Galactica  
_**

"Three minutes till they reach the civilian transports, sir," called Lieutenant Cortez.

"They'll be entering the maximum engagement range of _Proteus_ before we're able to catch back up with them, sir," said Burke as she leaned in over the table. "She could turn to intercept them."

"There are two _other_ maneuver elements out there, Major," replied Kelso evenly, his eyes locked on the screens overhead. "_Proteus_ has to hold her position otherwise the civilians will be exposed from at least two other directions."

"True, but she _will_ be in a position to fire some warning shots," countered Burke.

Glancing over to her, Kelso grinned slightly.

"Issue the order, Major; warning shots _only_."

"Aye, Commander."

* * *

**Battlecruiser _Enceladus  
_**

His brow furrowed in a scowl, Runel watched the dazzling, if ineffective barrage being laid down by one of the larger ships in the group ahead.

With just under two minutes to engagement range on the main body, one of the ships in the opposing flotilla had opened up with flak loads, directly, purposefully into the path of the approaching _Enceladus_.

"Warning shots?" he muttered, surprised, unsure. "Why the hell…"

If these _were_ Cylons, they were sure giving him one hell-of-a mind frak.

Perplexed, doubt eating away at his resolve, Runel prepared to issue order to slow their approach…

Overhead, DRADIS suddenly let out a shrill alarm announcing two more contacts entering range.

"Contacts!" burst Lieutenant Thorpe. "Two contacts have just jumped into range, Colonel, by their DRADIS signature, two Cylon Basestars confirmed at one-three-zero carom five-five; range, eighty-two hundred-K."

* * *

**Warstar _Galactica  
_**

"Confirmed, Commander," snapped Lieutenant Cortez. "I ran the ID against the DRADIS files we copied from the civilian fleet; two Cylon Basestars CBDR at this time."

"Helm, change course, one-three-zero, bow up fifty-five," snapped Kelso evenly, a fresh dump of adrenaline surging into his system. "Major Burke advise all batteries to prep me a firing solution on the double."

"Aye, Commander."

Reaching down, Kelso snatched up the handset on the side of the plot table.

"Harris, raise me the _Pacifica_."

"You're on, sir."

"_Galactica_-Actual to _Pacifica_, prepare to initiate evasive maneuvers, _Proteus_ will maintain cover of the formation but you need to try and make your way back down inside the nebula perimeter."

"_We copy you, _Galactica," replied his father over the wireless. "_What about you_?"

"This ship is going to do what she was designed to do," replied Sean Kelso evenly as he cast his eyes back up to the two, confirmed enemy ships on DRADIS. "She's going to _attack_."

* * *

**Battlecruiser _Enceladus  
_**

"The large ship is maneuvering into an attack posture against the Cylons, sir," called Lieutenant Thorpe. "The other ships are changing course, dropping back down within the nebula perimeter."

Dropping his head slightly, Runel took a deep breath. Which should he trust; his training or his instincts?

Doubt. Doubt got people killed. But so did blindly following rigid orders…orders which were written by men and women now long dead.

Thumping his clenched fist against the plot table, Runel cast his eyes back to DRADIS.

"Orders, Colonel?"

"I said we were going to attack the Cylons, and that's what I still aim to do, Lieutenant," he said evenly, his eyes narrowing as he watched the screen overhead. "Order _Savitri_ to alter her approach, assume a _defensive_ posture near those civilian ships and follow them down into the nebula."

"Aye, sir," snapped Thorpe, audibly relieved that Runel was breaking off the initial attack.

"Templeton, advise _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_ to come about, bring up our rear," continued Runel as he watched the large warship he'd almost been forced to engage bear down on the Cylon Basestars.

"Aye, sir."

"Helm, bring us about one-three-zero degrees, CBDR with the Cylon Baseships and advise fire control to ready a firing solution for the main batteries."

As a new wave of purpose swept over his CIC, Runel reached down and picked up the handset on his side of the plot table.

"Templeton, get me a wireless channel over to that big-fraking ship," said Runel evenly as he raised the handset to his ear.

* * *

**Warstar _Galactica  
_**

"Never thought I would ever say as much, but thank the gods for the fraking Cylons," muttered Commander Sean Kelso as he watched the _Enceladus_ and the other ships break off their attack run on the civilian convoy.

"Sir, _Enceladus_ is on the wireless for you," called Petty Officer Harris.

Quickly snatching up his handset, Kelso kept his eyes locked on the two Cylon Baseships as they rapidly neared _Galactica_'s maximum engagement line.

"Glad to see you finally believe me," said Kelso evenly as he brought the handset to his ear.

"_Jury is still out on you_," replied the voice on the other end flatly. "_For now, though, there's two Cylon Baseships out there and I aim to kill them_."

At that, Commander Sean Kelso's lips curled a bit.

"Not if we kill them first," he replied.

"_How do you want to play this_?"

"Depends; what can you bring to the table ship-wise?"

"_I've already ordered our carrier, the _Savitri_, into a defensive posture around your civilian convoy_," replied the voice over the wireless. "_Along with _Enceladus_, I have the _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_ coming about, but we'll both be fully engaged by the time they're able to bring their weapons to bear_."

As he listened to the _Enceladus_' commander, Kelso snatched a printout lying on the plot table, flipped it over to the blank backside, grabbed the pen from his pocket and quickly began scribbling down a few quick notes.

"Well I appreciate the assist," said Kelso as he briefly glanced back up at DRADIS. "For further verification, give me type and status of the ships in your group."

"Savitri_ is a Combatstar carrying a heavy deck of Vipers and Raptors_," replied Enceladus' CO. "Enceladus_ is an _Erinyes_ Class BC; _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_ are both _Ophan_ Class DD's_."

"Copy that, _Enceladus_," replied Kelso as he finished scribbling down the latest info.

"Sir, both Port and Starboard flight deck report ready to launch our birds on your order," said Burke as she stood with her hand over the mic on her handset.

"Keep them on hot-standby, let's see how the Cylons react first," replied Kelso evenly as he glanced back up at DRADIS.

Two minutes to weapons range with the Cylons…

_Enceladus_ pulling in another two minutes behind the _Galactica_…

"Okay, _Enceladus_, here's how we'll play this," began Kelso evenly as he set the pen down on the plot table. "_Galactica_ will pull a hard-ninety turn parallel to the Cylon advance and lay down a full broadside barrage. And taking a page from _your_ playbook, bring _Enceladus_ in on their Starboard flank, with _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_ pulling off their Port. As long as your ships can maneuver into position before the Cylons recover from our initial volleys, we should be able to box them in and hit them from all three sides."

"New contacts, Commander!" snapped Lieutenant Cortez. "Cylon Baseships are launching Raiders; three hundred plus inbound!"

"Secondary batteries are coming up now, Commander," said Burke. "We'll be able to rake them with a full triple-A barrage the moment they reach engagement range."

"Sir, change in aspect and bearing on the Raiders," interjected Cortez. "Half of the Raider force has broken off and are inbound on the civilian convoy."

"Time to get our birds out of the tubes, Major," snapped Kelso as he watched half of the Cylon Raiders turn in towards the civilians.

Reaching down, Burke toggled the switch for the One-MC.

"This is the XO, launch all fighters, I say again, all fighters into the air; good hunting, people."

Within moments, the Warstar _Galactica_ blossomed with dozens, tens of dozens of her own craft; her first combat sortie of Vipers.

"Major, order our Vipers to pursue the Raider force closing in on the civilians," snapped Kelso.

Burke paused.

If all their fighters broke off in pursuit of the Raiders closing on the civilians, there'd be none to help fend off the attack bearing down on _Galactica_.

Burke knew this.

Commander Sean Kelso knew this as well.

But _Galactica_ was armed, the civilian ships, save for the protection provided by _Proteus_ and _Savitri_, were not.

"Aye, sir," replied Burke evenly.

"The first Cylon Raiders will be on us in thirty-five seconds, Commander," called Lieutenant Cortez.

"Helm, zero-nine-zero turn a-Port," replied Kelso evenly. "Since they want to dance, we'll set the music."

* * *

**Cylon Raider  
**

Cutting a path through space, the sleek Raider, an entity unto itself, raced in towards the large Colonial Warship. Spreading out behind it, above it, to its sides were tens of dozens of similar craft. Aware, but not definably sentient, it nevertheless felt the rush, the thrill of the chase.

_This_ was what it had been designed to do, _this_ was what it longed to do; to _hunt_, to kill humans.

As it raced in towards its target, its _enemy_, the small cover plate over the front optical array slowly slid open, exposing the oscillating red eye so synonymous with everything it meant to be Cylon.

Like others had done before in so many other attacks against the humans, the racing fighter accessed that part of its consciousness that carried the computer override code signal which had already doomed billions of humans to nuclear oblivion.

As the Raider sent out the signal, its animalistic mind didn't anticipate anything so much as the base thrill of chasing down its prey.

Had its designers allowed the primitive Cylon mind that was the Raider's awareness to evolve into something approaching cognitive sentience, the Raider would have realized that the signal it had sent out had _not_ had the intended effect on the massive Colonial Warship towards which it raced.

It would have realized that without that signal, the warship would still be operating as its human builders had intended. It would have realized that it was now flying directly into a veritable wall of cannon emplacements training in upon it.

It would have realized that it was about to commit suicide.

* * *

**Warstar _Galactica  
_**

"Commence fire, Major Burke," said Kelso evenly as he watched the first of the closing Raiders cross into _Galactica_'s engagement zone.

As DRADIS began registering the blinding cannonade being laid down by the massive Warstar, Commander Sean Kelso couldn't help but begin to grin with absolute satisfaction.

Without any seeming regard for their own survival, the Raiders flocked en masse directly into the ship's firing solution, right into the withering barrage of heavy flak and armor-piercing triple-A shells that raced into the darkness of space.

Dozens, tens of dozens of the advancing Raiders were immediately ripped apart, shredded, pulverized. Those that survived the initial volley continued to penetrate deeper and deeper into a withering wall of shattering fire that quickly racked up a punishing toll on the Cylon fighters.

"I can't believe they just flew _into_ it," muttered Burke, shaking her head slightly as she watched the Raiders continue their suicidal charge right into _Galactica_'s baptismal barrage.

"Ten cubits to one they weren't expecting us to be able to fight back," replied Kelso evenly as he watched the Cylon Raiders continue to evaporate from DRADIS.

And then, quite suddenly, all the Raiders turned away.

"Fire control reports our fire has turned back their initial thrust, Commander," called Lieutenant Cortez.

"They're retreating!" burst Burke, her tone lost in disbelief as she leaned in over the plot table.

"But those Baseships are still coming on hard," countered Kelso as he watched the two imposing Cylon ships begin to open the distance in between them. "They're going to try and come in to our fore and aft."

"_Enceladus_ will be in engagement range in less than four minutes," said Burke as she absently pointed up at the ship's icon on DRADIS.

"True, but if the Cylons manage to box us in fore and aft, we'll be inside _Enceladus_' firing solution right along with them," countered Kelso as his eyes narrowed in concentration. "I'd prefer not to play their game."

As he continued to mull over his options, Kelso's eyes drifted over to the visibly hairy engagement going on between the second force of Raiders and the Vipers launched from _Galactica_. As he watched, Kelso also noted that in spite of his orders, perhaps even on his father's orders, a large reinforcement force of Vipers were charging in from their position around the civilian fleet to join the fray.

Engaging the Cylons not on their terms, but on the Colonials' own terms…

"We could pull back, give _Enceladus_, _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_ time to close the distance and then engage the Cylons in force," offered Burke.

"If we pull back, the Cylons will be able to see why; I doubt they'll just allow themselves to be engaged while outnumbered two-to-one," replied Kelso evenly as his eyes drifted back over to the two Cylon Baseships closing in. "They're just as likely to just spin up their FTL's and jump away, return later with reinforcements. No, we need to end this right now on _our_ terms."

As Burke stood there looking across the plot table at him, Commander Sean Kelso straightened up, gave his uniform tunic a curt tug, and focused his eyes in on DRADIS.

"Helm; ahead full flank speed, bring us around zero-nine-zero a-Starboard," began Kelso evenly as he slowly clasped his hands together behind his back. "If the Cylons want to be on either side of us, we'll oblige them."

"Aye, sir, answering all ahead flank speed," called Petty Officer Chapman as he input the commands into the helm. "Coming around zero-nine-zero to Starboard."

"That turn is going to take us in between them, Commander," muttered Burke as she leaned in closer over the plot table.

"Yes it will," replied Kelso lightly, his eyes never leaving DRADIS.

"They'll have us bracketed in a crossfire."

"But instead of just one broadside, we'll be able bring everything but our static bow emplacements to bear," countered Kelso evenly. "Take us up the center, Major."

"Aye, Commander," replied Burke evenly as she cast her eyes back up at DRADIS.

As the bow of the massive Warstar came around, the two Cylon Basestars gave no indication of countering the maneuver.

For a moment, Kelso wondered exactly whom was playing into whose hands.

No, he wanted to _own_ this engagement.

As the turn quickly brought the new _Galactica_ in between the two Basestars, the two ships suddenly erupted in a hail of new signals.

"Missiles inbound!" called Lieutenant Cortez. "Approximately forty-plus!"

"Brace for contact!" shouted Kelso as he reached over and gripped onto the plot table.

All around CIC, crewmembers likewise reached over and clutched a hold of their stations.

Even with all the ship's countermeasures enabled, it was inevitable that some of the missiles would still find their mark.

Even as several of the missiles veered away or around the massive Warstar, their guidance scrambled by electronic jamming, some of the missiles stayed true to their mark, at least twelve in total, slamming hard into the large warship's midsection to both Port and Starboard.

His grip on the plot table unwavering, Commander Sean Kelso's eyes never left DRADIS as the ship shuddered, weathering through her first enemy punches.

And she weathered them well.

"No damage, Commander," called Lieutenant Cortez as the shuddering abated.

"She's sturdy," muttered Burke, the surprise evident in her tone.

Finding Burke's comment unexpectedly annoying, Commander Sean Kelso glanced over at her momentarily.

"Primary fire control reports a firing solution for main batteries both to Port and Starboard, Commander," called Lieutenant Cortez as the Cylons launched off another volley of missiles.

"Commence fire, all main batteries, full salvo," replied Kelso evenly.

Even as another series of missile impacts reverberated through the _Galactica_, the ship replied in kind, launching off a punishing cannonade that tore through the two Basestars.

"Confirmed impacts on both targets, Commander," said Burke as she leaned in over the plot table.

"Now that they've had a taste, let's serve them the entrée," replied Kelso evenly. "Lock in firing solution, all batteries, fire for effect."

As the sound of _Galactica_'s own weapons firing reverberated through CIC, increasing in tempo, Commander Sean Kelso watched in supreme satisfaction as the DRADIS returns indicated that the two Basestars were beginning to crumble.

Overwhelmed by _Galactica_'s volume of fire, the two enemy warships suddenly began to turn, attempting to try and escape the punishing fire. Nevertheless, the focused attack from the Warstar's heavy emplacements kept pouring high explosive and armor-piercing ordnance into the two crumbling hulls.

With victory growing all but certain, the Battlecruiser _Enceladus_ charged in, her bow emplacements delivering another punishing cannonade into one of the Basestars as her dorsal batteries swung around and opened up on the other with a full broadside.

Finally, the mounting destruction became too much for the enemy to withstand, with both Cylon Baseships succumbing within moments of one another, disappearing in dazzling explosions that lit up space around the two victorious Colonial warships.

The enemy vanquished, a surreal calm settled in over _Galactica_'s CIC, a hesitant anticipation that hung over them for a moment.

"Status of Cylon Raiders?" asked Kelso evenly as he watched the radiation distortion from the destruction of the Basestars fade away into the background distortions generated by the nebula surrounding the twin pulsars.

"Our squadrons report the second Cylon Raider force has been smashed, Commander," replied Lieutenant Cortez a moment later. "All enemy forces have been destroyed."

With that, the tension around _Galactica_'s CIC was shattered by shouts of unabashed jubilation.

With his crew around him shouting in celebration, Commander Sean Kelso let out a long, relieved sigh as he leaned forward over the plot table.

Glancing up, Kelso caught sight of Major Burke looking back across at him, gently shaking her head, a slight grin on her lips.

Slowly, she reached a hand across to him.

"You did it, Commander," she said.

"No, Major," replied Kelso evenly as he took hold of her hand. "_We_ did it."

* * *

**Serenity Valley  
****Sagittaron Colony  
**

"Cease fire, cease fire!" shouted Captain Gaines over the din of gunfire echoing through the air.

After a few last sporadic shots, the air fell silent. Looking out past the trench line, Captain Gaines saw three chrome figures lying near the tree line at the bottom of the slope in the early morning light. Two were still, the third was twitching slightly, small sparks shooting out for a second or two from the bullet holes ripped in its torso.

"Team leaders, give me a report!" shouted Gaines as she watched the third Cylon Centurion finally fall still.

Crawling out of the trench, her wary gaze locked on the tree line, Gaines began making her way along the parapet as her Team Leaders called out the status of their people.

Thankfully, no one reported having any wounded.

Turning around, Gaines began to make her way back towards the courtyard at the center of the abandoned town of Serenity. In a very real sense, the area surrounding the town's old cistern had become her de facto command post. Centrally located, she was able to rush out to any point along the fortifications when contact with the enemy was made. As she stepped up to the old cistern, Gaines slowly brought her rifle around from her shoulder, cradling it as she put her hand on the cistern's wall and prepared to sit down.

"That's the fifth probe, Captain," said a grizzled old voice from behind Gaines.

Turning around, she found herself looking into the tanned and aged face of Corporal Marius, the old Marine chewing lightly on a long blade of grass between his teeth.

"Yeah, that's the fifth probe of our lines," sighed Gaines as she lowered herself down against the small brick wall around the cistern's opening. "At least we didn't lose anyone this time."

Reflexively, Gaines' eyes wandered over to the four bodies lined up beside one of the town's dilapidated structures. No flags, just an old poncho covered each of the still forms.

The first two had died during the first probe the Cylons had made of their lines roughly an hour after sunset the night before. Another had died during the second probe two hours later. The fourth had died, coincidentally, during the fourth probe by the Cylons.

"For better or worse, they'll probably leave us alone during the daylight," continued Marius as he looked out towards the growing light on the horizon. "Better to attack at night when they have the advantage of IR."

"That's a wonderfully insightful observation, Mr. Marius," sighed Gaines as she leaned her head back and closed her tired eyes.

Realizing her tone had been a bit harsh, Gaines opened her eyes and looked back up at the old veteran.

"Sorry, I didn't mean…"

"Never mind the apology, Captain, it's not necessary," replied Marius evenly. "Hell, back during the war, I actually told a General to frak-off during the battle of Medra. Though looking back the General really didn't have much of a choice but to just let it go, after all, she _was_ cowering down next to me in a fighting hole at the time."

At that, Captain Gaines chuckled softly.

"Nice to know even a General can be human," she muttered as she closed her eyes again.

"More than you know, Captain," replied Marius. "The General actually crapped her pants when a mortar shell landed a little too close for even my comfort."

Again, Gaines let out a chuckle.

"What happened to her?"

"Took a round right between the eyes," replied Marius as he casually tapped his forefinger against his forehead.

"Sorry I asked."

"Yeah, it wasn't a very pretty sight, then again, neither was she, not even after six months in the field," replied Marius as he pulled out a small ration package of nuts and began chewing on them. "Looking back though, that round might have actually improved her looks a little."

"I hope you're not trying to make some round-about comparison right now, Corporal," sighed Gaines as she sat, eyes shut, the gentle warmth of the rising sun starting to sweep across her.

"Not at all, Captain," sighed Marius as he continued to chomp down on a mouthful of nuts. "Haven't seen you cower _yet_."

"If that's your idea of a vote of confidence, you need to work on it a bit."

"To be blunt, Captain, if you're depending on me to buoy your confidence, you're looking at the wrong Marine for that job."

Tired as she was, Captain Gaines opened her eyes and looked back up at the wizened old face of Marius. His gaze was locked on the rising sun, his eyes distant.

"What exactly is the story with you anyways, Marius?" she sighed, gently shaking her head. "After the war, plenty of guys like you sat down, wrote out their memoirs or just tried their best to forget the war."

"Never much figured myself a writer, Captain," replied Marius evenly, his eyes still locked on the rising sun, the barest hint of a smile on his lips as he continued to gnaw on his blade of grass.

"That's not what I meant," sighed Gaines as she leaned her head back and closed her eyes. "From everything you've said about what happened here, everything your apparent protégé Mr. Bowman has read about the battle that took place, I have a hell-of-a time trying to wrap my head around the idea that you would choose to come back."

"Well, Captain, suffice it to say I could tell you…"

"So why don't you?" shot Gaines pointedly.

Chuckling slightly, Marius reached up, grabbed the blade of grass, and tossed it to the ground.

"I could tell you, Captain," began Marius again. "But I don't think you would quite understand."

With that, Marius hefted up his weapon, the one he'd curiously named Vera, and slowly began making his way out to one of the parapets surrounding Serenity.

* * *

Corporal Dwayne Bowman slowly rose out of the cluster of bushes in which he'd taken shelter.

The sound of the not-so-far-off gunfire had echoed through the ravine for a little over two minutes. Faintly, he'd heard the voice of Captain Gaines calling out ceasefire and assumed that at least for the moment the defenses had held.

Not that the Cylons had really committed themselves to making a break through, thus far the nuisance attacks, the probes of the defensive lines around Serenity, had consisted of only two or three Centurions at a time.

How much longer the Cylons would be hitting them piecemeal was anyone's guess.

"Way above my pay grade," muttered Bowman as he looked back over his shoulder and motioned the rest of his team to get back on their feet.

"That's the fifth probe they've made," muttered Lance Corporal Sims as he looked warily around at the surrounding underbrush.

"I _can_ count," muttered Bowman as he pulled out a compass and map.

"How much longer we going to be out here?" asked Lance Corporal Auric as he stood, rifle at the ready peering out into the thick canopy of trees.

"We've still got about four clicks to go," replied Bowman as he shot a resection off a nearby hilltop with the compass.

"One big circle," muttered Sims.

"Quit your bitchin'," said Bowman as he stuffed the map back inside his cargo pocket. "At least we haven't run into any Toasters."

"So say we all to that, Corporal," sighed Auric. "I thought there was supposed to be a clearing around here?"

"There is, just up ahead," replied Bowman as he dropped the compass back into a pouch on his gear. "We'll skirt the edge, remain in the thick for cover."

"Damn, I was hoping we might get out of this fraking brush for a bit," groaned Sims. "I swear to the gods, I've twisted my ankle three times."

"Open space makes a perfect kill-zone," muttered Bowman as he hopped up over a fallen stump and began making his way through the underbrush. "Now let's move, the sooner we finish this patrol, the sooner we can get some shut-eye."

With that, the three Marines set back off on the patrol route, making their way through the underbrush. In spite of their fatigue, the trio nevertheless kept their eyes on the surrounding forest for the merest hint of glinting metal in the early morning light.

Truth be told, if they'd run into Centurions, there was little they would be able to do. Even three on three, the new breed of Centurions that had been stalking them since the airfield would have them outmatched. The best they could hope for was to see the enemy first and get the drop on them before they could fire back.

Before long, Bowman, Auric and Sims reached the edge of the clearing they'd been looking for.

Taking a knee at the edge of the large open space, it at first seemed like nothing special, totally unremarkable; simply a small patch of land that someone, likely settlers from the long since abandoned town of Serenity, had cleared of trees, possibly for use in farming.

Reaching into his cargo pocket, Bowman again pulled out his map and compass.

As he again prepared to shoot a resection in order to verify his position on the map, Bowman caught sight of something in the clearing.

Not the glint of polished metal, but something that stuck him as odd nonetheless.

Quickly shooting the resection with his compass, Bowman verified that they were more-or-less on the assigned patrol route. As he stuffed the map and compass back away, Bowman returned his gaze to the object that had caught his attention.

"What you got?" muttered Auric, noting the attention Bowman was giving to the clearing.

"Hell if I know," muttered Bowman, shaking his head slightly.

"Looks like a bunch of rocks," said Sims as he too looked out into the open space.

"Looks like," muttered Bowman, glancing about the rest of the clearing.

"Well, you're the boss, if you've got a hunch, how do you want to play it?" asked Auric evenly as he settled in beside a tree stump.

Looking around the clearing, Bowman's gaze kept settling back in on the objects lying in the open. He could just dismiss it, continue the patrol, but Bowman couldn't help his nagging curiosity. Looking down at his rifle, Bowman pulled the bolt back just enough to verify that a round was in the chamber, then looked over at Sims and Auric.

"You two stay here, keep me covered, I'm going to snoop out there a take a quick look," said Bowman as he hunched down a bit and began stepping towards the edge of the clearing.

"Don't take too long," muttered Sims. "There's a nice little shady spot back in the town square I have my eye on for a nap when we get back."

"Just keep an eye out for Toasters," countered Bowman as he pushed his way into the tall grass.

With slow, deliberate steps, Bowman pushed his way into the clearing, the tall grass rustling a bit as he made his way forward. With the rising sun still just barely over the horizon, the early morning dew clung to his uniform, dampening it just enough that some of the budding grass seeds adhered to the black cloth.

Glancing back over his shoulder, Bowman barely saw Sims and Auric, the two hugging tight to the underbrush as their eyes alternated back and forth between him and the surrounding clearing, wary for any signs of the Cylons.

Content that his back was covered, Bowman pushed ahead the last couple of meters to the object that had caught his attention.

As he reached it, Bowman saw that Sims' description had been accurate, if incomplete.

Indeed, there was a large stone sitting there in the clearing, several smaller stones surrounding its base.

On the face of the large stone a symbol had been carved, rough as it was, but nevertheless recognizable as the temple emblem of the goddess Demeter.

Goddess of the Hearth and Motherhood…

And Goddess of the Blessed Afterlife…

With a chill running up his spine, Bowman realized the stone was the marker for a grave.

Glancing around, Bowman soon realized that the marker was not alone; others lay obscured beneath the grass, dozens more, perhaps a hundred.

With the hairs on the back of his neck beginning to stand up, Bowman suddenly realized where he was.

This wasn't just some random clearing in the forest; this was a graveyard.

As he stood there looking at the headstones, Bowman heard something in the air, a slight chiming, the gentle clang of metal on metal.

Not a Centurion, not mechanical, instead almost melodic in the early morning breeze, akin to a wind-chime.

Pushing further into the clearing graveyard, Bowman followed the sound to its source.

It was a pair of Colonial dog tags resting gently on one of the markers.

Reaching out, Bowman gently took hold of the tags, careful not to pull them free of the headstone.

Turning them over, he felt another chill run through his spine as he read the name.

Marius, Kieran, serial number one-two-zero-six-one-three.

For a moment, Bowman began to panic.

If this was the gravestone of Marius, then who the frak was the man claiming to be him back at Serenity?

No.

Looking down at the grave marker, Bowman saw that a name had been meticulously carved into the stone beneath the symbol of Demeter.

A name and an inscription…

_Vera, so cherished in spirit, whose beauty and spirit in life outshined even the brightest stars in the heavens._

Letting the dog tags fall back against the stone marker, Bowman felt his heart racing.

"Vera?" he muttered, glancing about at the other stone markers.

Glancing down one last time at the tags as they again jangled in the breeze, Bowman hefted up his rifle and quickly made his way back over to Sims and Auric.

As he stepped back into the relative cover of the tree line, Bowman paused long enough to glance back over his shoulder.

"So, spill, Corporal, what was it?" asked Sims as he huddled down beside Bowman. "Or do I need to say please?"

"It's a graveyard," muttered Bowman as he pulled out the map.

"Told you the place gave me the creeps," muttered Sims as he glanced over at Auric.

"Let's just finish this patrol and get back into the perimeter," said Bowman as he oriented himself to the map.

As the trio set off again along the patrol route, Bowman cast one last look back over into the clearing, at the headstones, at Vera's headstone.

To be sure, Marius had a secret, on the face of it, one that might be poetic, but one that presented questions the old veteran needed to answer.

* * *

**Warstar _Galactica  
_****Final Approach to Torvik Fleet Anchorage  
**

Gently drumming his fingers on the plot table, Commander Sean Kelso watched as the massive Warstar _Galactica_ finished the final turn on approach to the Torvik Anchorage, the fleet supply depot nestled deep within the pulsar wind nebula surrounding the dual pulsars known as Leto's Twins.

In spite of the significant interference, Kelso was able to discern the long line of vessels, active and decom, civilian and military alike as they followed the large warship through the narrow channel plotted through the blinding nebula.

With the ship's first engagement behind them, Commander Sean Kelso tried not to reflect too much on anything so much as finding the path forward. While none of the ships themselves, either civilian or military, had suffered any casualties during the battle, a total of twenty-one Vipers had been lost in their first head-on tangle with the Cylons as a unified group.

Military fact told him that the deaths were unavoidable, even so, Sean Kelso the only solace he was able to glean from the engagement lay with how mercifully few those losses were considering the potential catastrophe that could have been had he not acted.

Overhead, DRADIS flared with an intense pulse of energy from one of the pulsars, followed a moment later by the gentle shaking of the vessel itself; the minor gravity flux of the pulsar's rotation.

"I thought this was supposed to be the eye of the storm," muttered Burke as she held firm to the plot table.

"It took eight months to plot this entry corridor, Major," replied Kelso evenly as he watched the massive signature of Torvik Anchorage emerge from the interference on DRADIS. "Four Raptors were lost during the survey. Believe me, this _is_ the eye of the storm."

Another shudder passed through the warship as DRADIS flared yet again.

"For better or worse, just be glad you're aboard the _Galactica_," continued Kelso evenly. "Those civvies are probably weathering a great deal more chop."

"I've located the primary docking collar for the Torvik Anchorage, Commander," called Lieutenant Cortez.

"There should be three more," replied Kelso evenly. "Harris, get on the wireless and advise _Proteus_, _Savitri_ and _Enceladus_ to go ahead and dock at the other three."

"Aye, Commander."

His eyes locked on DRADIS, Kelso watched as _Galactica_, _Enceladus_, _Savitri_ and _Proteus_ all maneuvered in and docked with the massive station.

"Major Burke, go ahead and call down to Chief Copeland and verify that she's got the resupply teams ready to move aboard the station," began Kelso as the indicators showed the _Galactica_ had achieved a firm seal with the station airlock.

As Burke reached down and picked up the handset on her side of the plot table, Kelso made his way over to Harris at the Communications station.

"Harris, get on the wireless and advise all ship commanders to rendezvous aboard _Galactica_ as soon as we've completed the docking maneuver."

"Aye, sir."

Making his way back over to Burke, Kelso glanced back up at DRADIS.

"Copeland and her people are ready to start moving the supplies aboard, sir," said Burke as she too looked up to DRADIS. "Putting a CAP up is going to be a bitch in that much chop."

"Hold off on the Vipers," replied Kelso evenly as he watched the interference on the screen. "No point risking the loss of any of our birds when we don't have to. As soon as Copeland's people have started moving the supplies aboard, order the _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_ into a blocking position on this side of the chute."

"Getting a firm fix on anything coming down the corridor is going to be difficult at best," noted Burke as she glanced over at Kelso.

"All the more reason to have the two destroyers watching the door for us," replied Kelso as he turned and began making his way towards the CIC entryway. "As soon as the other ship commanders are aboard, advise them that I've gone over to the station to oversee the resupply, have them meet me there."

"Understood, Commander."

* * *

Although he'd been a part of the engineering team that had overseen the construction of the Torvik Anchorage some years before, Commander Sean Kelso had to admit, if only to himself, that he'd forgotten just how large the facility was.

Capable of resupplying literally four full Battlestar groups, the Torvik facility dwarfed other resupply depots. Stepping into the primary staging hall, Commander Sean Kelso found himself straining to see the figures on the gantries high overhead, the outlines of his crewmembers difficult to discern against the cavernous backdrop.

"Commander!"

Her voice echoing out through the space, Commander Sean Kelso turned to see Chief Petty Officer Maria Copeland as she stepped out from behind a sizeable stack of ordnance pallets.

"Commander, I didn't expect to see you over here watching us knuckle-draggers at work," said Copeland as she stepped up to him. "Hope this doesn't mean you intend to micromanage every little detail, respectfully, sir."

"Not at all, Chief," smiled Kelso as he looked back out at the myriad of crewmembers setting about the task of moving the literal mountain of supplies. "Just consider me a spectator."

"Not exactly a Pyramid match here, but whatever suits the Commander," shrugged Copeland as she turned her attention to a cluster of crewmen attempting to move a pallet. "If you'll excuse me, sir."

"By all means, Chief."

"Hey, watch out with that lift!" barked Copeland as she stepped away. "You drop those warheads you'll send up this entire fraking station!"

Chuckling slightly, but frankly none-too-concerned, Commander Sean Kelso was content to watch as the work moved forward. His hands clasped behind him, he began pacing along the periphery of the activity as the first of several pallets began making their way out of the cavernous area towards the _Galactica_.

As he watched the activity, Kelso caught sight of his CAG, Major Culver, as the man stepped up to Chief Copeland. Although he couldn't hear what the two were saying to one another over the din of the activity, it was plain that something had Culver particularly excited.

He was about to step over to them when Copeland herself turned and pointed over to Kelso, both her and Major Culver quickly making their way over to them.

"Major Culver, you look a bit out of breath," began Kelso as Culver and Copeland stepped up to him. "Did you go for a jog or something?"

"Not quite, Commander," replied the almost breathless Culver, a small grin creeping across his lips.

"The Major found something you might be interested in, Commander," interjected Copeland as she lightly tapped Culver on the back with her clipboard.

"What's that?"

"Vipers, sir," said Culver, his grin growing even wider. "There are Vipers on sublevel four."

* * *

Even as the overhead lights in that section of corridor flickered to life, half a dozen crewmembers continued their way forward to the large doorway at the end of the passage. As they reached it, one crewmember hefted up a sizeable pair of bolt cutters and with the aid of two others, quickly snapped the large lock on the door. As it fell to the deck with a large thud, the other crewmembers fought to open the sizeable doorway.

With each space nominally sealed from one another in case of emergency decompression, the door took a bit of effort to open, but nevertheless swung wide after several moments of concerted effort. As the swinging doors kicked up a thin layer of dust, the small team tentatively stepped inside, Chief Copeland making her way over to a series of switches on the bulkhead. Tripping the circuits for the lights, the assemblage watched as overhead flood lamps within the compartment flickered to life.

As he stood there with the others, Commander Sean Kelso watched as the light began casting shadows down onto the rows of tarp-covered figures. As the dust continued to swirl gently around their feet, Kelso slowly stepped forward, followed closely by Major Culver. Stepping up to one of the tarps, both Kelso and Culver took hold of one edge, and with some effort, pulled it free, revealing the sleek and unmistakable form of a Viper. Letting the tarp fall to the ground, the two of them began slowly making their way around the revealed fighter.

"Looks like a Mark Four," muttered Culver as he ran his hand along the distinctive nose. "Why would there be Mark Four's at a reserve depot?"

"Someone at Headquarters must have gotten behind on his inventory review," muttered Copeland as she glanced around the area.

"From what I understand, some of the civilians aboard the _Proteus_ are flying reconditioned Mark Two's," stated Kelso evenly as he too ran his hand along one of the triangular wings. "Times like this we can't be too picky, Major."

"Found the manifest, Commander," announced Chief Copeland as she stepped up with a binder she'd pulled from a shelf beside the switches.

"What's the book say we have, Chief?" asked Kelso as he looked out along the other tarp-covered outlines.

"Forty Mark Four Vipers; ten Raptors; four Mark Two shuttles, and frak me, ten Warthog dropships."

"That's a respectable amount of firepower," muttered Kelso evenly. "Make sure they make it aboard safely, Chief."

"Aye, Commander."

As Chief Copeland pulled out a portable handheld wireless set and called over to _Galactica_ for additional crewmembers, Major Culver stepped up behind Kelso.

"Not to sound ungrateful or anything, sir, but we don't have any spare pilots for these birds," said Culver.

"Most CAGs would be overjoyed to have a few spare ships on the deck," smiled Kelso as he glanced over at Culver.

"Spares are good, sir," replied Culver instantly. "But right about now we could use the actual hitting power."

Taking a deep breath, Kelso returned his gaze to the rows as Copeland and two other crewmen began pulling the tarps from a few more of the dormant ships, the Chief checking the serial numbers on the tails with the manifests in the binder.

"So far we've been pretty lucky, Major," began Kelso as he continued to watch the activity. "At least as lucky as anyone could be under these circumstances. Like everything else, we'll just take this one step at a time. We'll load the birds for now and find the pilots when we can."

"Aye, sir."

* * *

**Torvik Anchorage  
****Main Staging Hall  
**

As he stepped back out into the main staging hall of Torvik Anchorage, Commander Sean Kelso was pleasantly surprised to see the almost feverish efforts by the myriad of personnel had begun to show results. It had been just over an hour since they'd first opened the airlocks into Torvik, but already a sizeable amount of materiel had already been moved out of the cavernous space.

As he continued to move along the service alleys between the stacked pallets of munitions and supplies, Kelso quickly realized that along with personnel from _Galactica_, including those rescued from the _Heracles_, there were now work details moving about sporting patches from several other ships as well.

_Enceladus_…

_Savitri_…

_Republica_…

Each ship patch similar in design but distinct in its color scheme. Stopping several times, stepping aside to allow crewmembers to pass with pallets of supplies, Kelso nevertheless continued to make his way back towards the main airlock back to the _Galactica_.

As he came around one last stack of munitions, Kelso caught sight of Chief Copeland conversing with a small assemblage of Colonial Officers and civilians. Most he already recognized as the various commanders from the refugee flotilla, including his father. The others were presumably the commanders from the recently arrived Colonial warships.

Glancing over her shoulder in time to see Kelso approaching, Chief Copeland motioned the unknown officers towards him as he continued making his way over.

"Commander, thought I'd have to send out a search detail for you," joked Copeland as Kelso stepped up to the assemblage.

"If I ever got lost, I'd just need to listen for your hollering, Chief, and I'd be sure to find my way back," replied Kelso as he turned to face the newly arrived officers. "I'm Commander Sean Kelso, commander of the Warstar _Galactica_."

With that, he extended a hand to the nearest of the group, a Colonel from the insignia on her collar.

"Colonel Brianna Webber, Combatstar _Savitri_," replied the woman evenly as she turned and motioned her head towards another officer in the group, also a Colonel. "This is our group commander…"

"Colonel Thadius Runel, Commander," began the man as he in turn reached over and took hold of Kelso's hand. "CO of the Battlecruiser _Enceladus_."

"_Enceladus_, eh," smiled Kelso as he briskly shook the man's hand. "You mean that stout little warship that threatened to put a salvo into my ship?"

"Little?" muttered Runel, a momentary scowl crossing his features. "Maybe in relation to that monster you're helming, Commander, but we've managed to hold our own thus far in a fight."

"Of that I have no doubt, Colonel," replied Kelso as he stepped aside to allow a resupply team by. "Maybe we should move this little gathering to a less-crowded location, before we get run over. If you'll follow me, please."

* * *

Stepping into the Command Operations Center of _Galactica_, Commander Sean Kelso was struck momentarily by the contrast between this space and the Command Operations Center aboard his father's vessel, the _Pacifica_. Fifty years of warship design and hard-learned lessons separated the two ships, and yet there was still an air of similarity. Newer perhaps, different color scheme, less austere, more lights and computer screens, but nevertheless fulfilling the same function; conference room slash gods' eye view of the battlefield.

As his observations gave way back to the here-and-now, Sean Kelso continued his way through the large space, the other ship commanders following close on his heels, quickly filing into the compartment and stepping up around the massive combat operations board.

Quickly looking around at the assemblage, Commander Sean Kelso had half a moment where he wondered just how cliché having everyone there must have seemed. Mentally shrugging off the thought, however, he looked out at the assembled faces.

"Since we will hopefully have ample time to get to know one another later, and since time itself right now is running at a premium, I suggest we forgo the social foreplay and get right into the thick of business," stated Kelso evenly. "Colonel Runel, go ahead and give us the run down on your situation."

"For the sake of brevity, I'll leave the details for you to read in my after-action reports, Commander," began Runel as he too leaned in over the table. "Suffice it to say, we've had our fair share of 'excitement' since the attack began."

With that, Colonel Runel quickly went over the events that had brought his group to Torvik; the orders detaching them from escort of the Battlestar _Galactica_, the first engagement with the Cylons out at Armistice Station, the next engagement at Rhapsody Station and rescue of _Savitri_, the engagement at the Ragnar Anchorage and fate of the _Republica_ and her crew.

"Sounds like you've been busy the last couple of days, Colonel," said Commander Sean Kelso evenly. "You and your people have my sincere respect on taking out two Baseships."

"On behalf of my crew, I thank you for that, sir," sighed Runel as he glanced over at Webber. "But, I'd be lying if I said that our journey has been without cost."

"Of that I have no doubt," replied Kelso soberly. "But the accomplishments of you and your people are impressive nonetheless."

"Sir," nodded Runel.

"Now, I do have a question," began Kelso, taking a deep breath. "Considering you weren't aware of our presence here at Torvik, what course of action had you originally planned to take once you'd resupplied your ships?"

"Originally, I had intended to link back up with the _Galactica_, Commander," began Runel evenly. "The _Battlestar Galactica_, that is, sir."

"Are you saying she survived the attack as well?" asked Adrian Kelso, himself also leaning in over the plot table as he stood beside his son.

"We have reason to believe so, sir, yes," replied Runel. "The first day of the attack, we picked up a communiqué sent by Commander Adama ordering all surviving units to rendezvous at Ragnar Anchorage, that's why we went to that location following the evac from Rhapsody Station."

"But you said you found the _Republica_ there, not _Galactica_," chimed in Commander Sean Kelso evenly.

"True, sir, but we did rescue two pilots from the _Galactica_ after the Cylons withdrew," continued Runel. "They indicated to us that Commander Adama and the _Galactica_ were providing escort for a fleet of civilian ships that arrived at Ragnar not long after the attack began."

"Nice to know we aren't the only ones to make it out of this Cylon mess," interjected Paul Bess. "Did these pilots have any idea where Commander Adama was escorting these civilian ships to?"

"According to the pilots, the President of the Colonies ordered little short of a complete abandonment of the war effort," stated Runel, taking a deep breath as he attempted to stretch his aching back a bit. "_Galactica_ and the civilian ships have withdrawn completely from Colonial territory."

"Any indication where _Galactica_ may have withdrawn to?" asked Sean Kelso evenly.

"Not an exact location, no, but somewhere in the Prolmar sector," replied Runel.

"But President Adar is with the civilian fleet?" asked Bess.

"Not President Adar, no," replied Colonel Webber evenly, casting a sideways glance towards Runel.

"But you said the President…" began Bess, his voice suddenly trailing off as he glanced over at Commander Sean Kelso.

"Case Orange?" asked Sean Kelso, raising an eyebrow slightly, somewhat weary of the answer he'd get as he glanced over at Runel.

"Affirmative, sir," replied Runel, gently nodding his head.

"I'm almost afraid to ask, but just how far down the line of succession?" asked Adrian Kelso evenly.

"Secretary of Education, sir, Laura Roslin," answered Runel with the barest hint or a smirk.

"You're fraking kidding?" burst the elder Kelso.

"I said just about the same thing," replied Runel, grinning slightly. "But, that _is_ where we are, I suppose."

"Indeed," muttered Sean Kelso evenly as he paused, slowly nodding his head as he thought the situation over. "You say Commander Adama jumped his fleet out to the Prolmar sector?"

"Yes, sir."

"Even if you were hot on their trail, the Prolmar sector is a lot of territory to search for one lone Battlestar," noted Sean Kelso as he looked back over to Runel. "Three days after the fact, the chances of finding them now are approaching nil."

"Granted, sir," replied Runel, nodding his head momentarily. "But with all due respect, Commander, do _you_ have a better plan in mind?"

Taking a deep breath, Commander Sean Kelso glanced around at the other faces assembled around the large operations table, his gaze finally settling on his father.

For his part, the elder Kelso gave only the slightest of shrugs.

"Strength in numbers," offered Adrian Kelso.

Looking back out across the table, Commander Sean Kelso began lightly drumming his fingers on the tabletop, much to the muted amusement of his father. Slowly looking around at the expectant faces assembled there, the younger Kelso thought the situation over.

"If we do attempt to locate the Battlestar _Galactica_, we ourselves will be admitting that the Colonies, our homes, are irrevocably lost," began Paul Bess evenly as he too slowly looked around to each of the faces around the table. "Are we prepared to do that?"

"Would we all be huddled up aboard a handful of ships if we _weren't_ ready to admit as much?" interjected one of the civilian liner captains, the one Kelso knew simply as Captain 'Jack'. "Let's be honest with ourselves here for a moment; our _homes_ are gone, nothing left but radioactive debris. Are the charred cinders that were the Colonies worth risking the few of us who remain, especially considering we can't hope to match the Cylons militarily?"

Slowly, the heads around the table began to nod, a silent but pained concession to that point.

"Far be it for me to _ever_ delve into any subject that might be construed as religious," began Paul Bess evenly as he took a deep breath. "But let us just try and keep in mind, gods aside, humanity is no stranger to exodus. As we all know well, life here on the Colonies began out there on Kobol."

"And so long as we have the courage to take the step, who's to say it might not yet be able to continue and thrive somewhere else?" interjected Adrian Kelso evenly.

Glancing over at his father, Commander Sean Kelso took a deep, steadying breath.

"However, in the end, this is _your_ decision…," continued Adrian Kelso as he looked back to his son. "…Commander."

And with that, the die had been all but cast.

It was not so much his father had seemingly placed this burden in his hands as it was the underlying truth of the situation that they faced; should they fight or should they flee?

This was a decision that had to be made with finality.

And as his father had been so clear to point out, a fleet could only have one Commander.

Looking back around at the officers and civilians around the table, Commander Sean Kelso realized, much to his own profound surprise, that they were all waiting for him alone to make the decision. Letting out a long sigh, Commander Sean Kelso straightened up, looked one last time around at them, then gently clasped his hands behind his back.

"Once we have completed resupplying here at Torvik Anchorage…" he began, drawing in one last resolute breath. "…all ships will make preparations for FTL jump to the Prolmar sector where we will attempt to link up with the Battlestar _Galactica_ and her group."

The decision made, Commander Sean Kelso felt, curiously, as though a weight had been lifted from him, a catharsis not dissimilar from the one he'd felt when he'd first decided to bring his own _Galactica_ back into Colonial territory to search for survivors.

A plan, any plan, was better than uncertainty.

"Okay, if there is nothing else, I thank you for coming, get back to your ships and make them ready to get back underway," finished Commander Kelso.

With that, the large assemblage began to disperse back out the entryway.

Turning to his father, Sean Kelso couldn't help but gently shake his head as he looked into his father's face.

"Should I thank you now or later for dropping that particular hot rock in my lap?" smirked Sean.

"One fleet, one Commander," replied the elder Kelso evenly. "Last I checked, you had the biggest ship around so…"

With his father's voice trailing off, Sean Kelso noted the curious look on Adrian's face, and following his gaze, turned around to see that Director Paul Bess stood with Captain "Jack" at one end of the table while Colonel Runel stood at the other end, all of them watching each other rather curiously, even expectantly.

After a moment of glancing back and forth at the lingering men, Sean Kelso motioned them all closer.

"Can I presume since you are all still here there's something on each of your minds that you didn't want to discuss in front of the others?" asked Sean Kelso evenly as the much smaller ensemble stepped in around him.

"I can't speak for Colonel Runel, but Jack Foster and I did have something, yes," stated Paul Bess evenly.

"Foster, okay, good, Jack Foster," muttered Sean Kelso, eliciting a somewhat perplexed glance.

"Commander?"

"Your name, Captain Foster, forgive for saying as much, but your name had slipped my mind before," amended Sean Kelso. "I was beginning to think I'd be doomed to referring to you simply as Captain 'Jack'."

"Oh, I see," mumbled Foster, still apparently half-confused by the explanation. "In any case, Director Bess and I were just curious what you planned to do, if anything, about those Marines we spoke about earlier."

"And what exactly do you think I should be doing?"

"You said it yourself, Commander," interjected Bess evenly. "That gunship crew you picked up said they got away from the airfield, they could very well still be holding up somewhere on Sagittaron."

"Are you suggesting a rescue operation?"

"I think we owe it to them to try, sir, yes," replied Foster evenly

Taking a deep breath, Commander Sean Kelso leaned back against the table as he looked over at Bess and Foster.

"Gentlemen, as much as I hate to say it, any information we have on the status of those Marines is stale at best," stated Commander Sean Kelso. "Under the circumstances, it's as good as worthless; not only do we not know that they're still alive, we can't even be certain of where they might be holding out if they _are_ alive."

"We could send out a recon mission," offered Foster. "Hell, if it would help, I'll fly it myself; I was certified in Raptors long before I starting flying that civilian crate."

"Forgive me for butting in, but what exactly are you two gentlemen talking about?" interjected Colonel Runel, casting a curious glance over to Bess and Foster.

"When we evacuated from Sagittaron, we were forced to leave a sizeable Marine ground team behind when the airfield came under attack," replied Bess. "A Scimitar gunship broke up the Cylon attack, allowing the Marines to retreat."

"We picked up the Scimitar crew after they mistakenly jumped out to our location at the testing range," continued Commander Kelso.

"In any event, I think we should try and retrieve them before we jump out to the Prolmar sector," interjected Bess.

"And believe me, I can appreciate that sentiment, Paul, but my son…" began Adrian Kelso, pausing. "…but the _Commander_ is correct, we have no way of knowing if they're even still alive."

"Even sending a _recon_ mission is risky," finished Sean Kelso evenly, apologetically. "We have no intel on enemy activity in the area, we have no idea where the Marines might have escaped to, and we have no way of attempting to communicate with them that wouldn't compromise a recon mission."

"Actually, Commander, if I may, that might not be the case," began Colonel Runel, an almost bemused expression on his face.

Unexpected as it was, Runel's statement drew not only the attention from Foster and Bess, but from both Kelso's as well.

"I take it you have a suggestion, Colonel?" asked Bess evenly.

"Better," replied Runel, almost chuckling. "In fact, it's what _I_ was waiting to discuss with the Commander myself."

"I'm not sure I follow you, Colonel," said Commander Sean Kelso flatly.

"The Marines that Director Bess was forced to leave behind," continued Runel, smirking slightly. "I might just know where they are."

* * *

**Serenity Valley  
****Sagittaron Colony  
**

"Thank you for the report, Corporal," said Captain Gaines as she began folding her map back up. "Go ahead and get you people some chow and rest, but be prepared to take over post five in about four hours so Kaplan can prep his people for their patrol."

"Aye, Captain," replied Bowman as he stood up, slung his rifle and began making his way over towards one of the old buildings where Sims and Auric had flopped themselves down.

Although it was still well before noon, between exhaustion and the high humidity, Bowman felt sapped of energy as he dropped the bulk of his gear down beside the two other members of his team. Nevertheless, after passing on the order to get some chow and rest to Sims and Auric, Bowman began searching the area for Marius.

Although he'd passed on the information regarding the location of the graveyard itself to Captain Gaines, Bowman had withheld the information regarding the dog tags and the grave marker he'd seen.

For his part, he wanted speak with Marius about it first.

After wandering around the parapets for nearly an hour, he finally caught sight of the old Marine over near one of the heavy machine gun positions.

Crouched down with the team manning the gun, Marius was apparently well involved in reciting some old war story, for as Bowman approached, all of them let go with a loud, boisterous laugh.

"And that was the last time I ate the corned beef hash," chuckled Marius, whatever story he'd been telling making the two Marines he'd been speaking too grimace slightly, as the old Marine glanced up and noted Bowman's approach. "Ah, Corporal Bowman, glad to see you made it back from your patrol."

"Corporal Marius, I was wondering if I could discuss something with you right quick," said Bowman evenly as he motioned for Marius to step over towards one of the abandoned structures.

Stepping inside, as much to get out of the sun as for privacy, Bowman slowly turned back to Marius.

"So what's on your mind, Corporal Bowman?" asked Marius evenly as he stood there just barely inside the entryway.

"Vera," replied Bowman flatly.

Slowly, Marius slid the weapon down off his shoulder, held it in his hands, his expression somewhat dubious, curious.

"What do you want to talk about my weapon for?" asked Marius evenly as he stood there, almost cradling the rifle.

"Not your rifle, Marius," countered Bowman, holding Marius' gaze. "The _real_ Vera."

For a moment, Marius didn't respond, his expression going almost blank.

"Out on our little nature walk today, my team came across a clearing," continued Bowman as he held Marius' gaze. "Never expected I would find a graveyard there."

In an instant, Marius' blank expression gave way first to fear, then anger.

"You little son-of-a-bitch, you'd better not have disturbed that area, you had no right..!"

"We came across the graveyard by accident, might not have if you'd fraking told us it was there in the first place!" snapped Bowman, pausing when he realized that his voice had attracted the attention of the two Marines manning the machinegun post just outside. "Now, I told the Captain the graveyard was there, but not about Vera's grave marker, or your dog tags. But, I will unless you convince me right now that I shouldn't."

Angry, clearly fuming inside, Marius stood there glaring across at Bowman. On the one hand, it clearly infuriated Marius that his little secret, whatever the actual details were, had been at least somewhat found out. But as his anger slowly gave way to resignation, Marius bowed his head slightly.

"Vera was my wife," he finally said, his tone growing somber. "She died when the Cylons attacked Serenity, along with our unborn daughter."

Somewhat surprised by the revelation, Bowman took a couple tentative steps towards Marius.

"Is that why you never left here, why you stayed after the war ended?"

"Mostly, yes," replied Marius meekly as he turned and looked out the entryway towards the forest beyond. "Truth is, with them gone I had no real reason to return to what you call 'civilization'."

"Lots of people lost loved ones during the war, you could have tried," offered Bowman.

"You don't understand, Bowman," replied Marius, shaking his head slightly. "Back during the war, the Cylons hit a lot of targets, constantly, routinely. Every time they did, defending places like Serenity dropped further and further down on command's list of priorities."

Turning around to face Bowman, Marius was clearly pained.

"When I learned that the Cylons had landed a force near here, I knew that command wasn't going to 'waste' their effort on defending such a small hamlet, in order to hold the depot, they'd already written Serenity and all its residents off," stated Marius, his tone taking on a bitter edge.

"But command sent the Two-Hundred-and-First and the Fifty-Seventh up here to defend the pass," countered Bowman.

"No, _they_ didn't," replied Marius flatly. "The Two-Hundred-and-First marched their way into Serenity Valley because _I_ had taken the Regimental CO hostage and brought him here."

"You _what_?" sputtered Bowman, making no attempt to hide his shock at Marius' revelation.

Nodding his head slightly, Marius slowly sat down in the entryway, cradling his rifle in his arms.

"The CO's orders had been to hold at the depot and defend the perimeter," continued Marius. "When I found out they were content to let the Cylons slaughter everyone in Serenity just to hold some damned line on a map, I knew I had to do _something_."

"And taking the CO hostage seemed the proper solution?"

"At the time, _yes_."

"So they followed you up here in order to rescue the Regimental Commander?"

"Yes," nodded Marius as his eyes glazed over a bit from whatever memories were filtering through his mind. "But by the time they caught up with us here in Serenity to rescue him the Cylons were already on the move down the valley."

"If what you're saying is true, why isn't it in any of the history books?"

"After the war, the battle took on an almost mythic status," began Marius, a sardonic smile crossing his lips as he lightly shook his head. "In spite of the casualties, it was great press for the Corps; Marines making a gallant stand, fighting to the last to defend a poor hamlet of lowly Sagittarians."

"They turned a criminal act, hell and act of _treason_, into a PR campaign?"

"Wars need heroes," muttered Marius somewhat bitterly. "And myths are hard to shatter once they've taken hold in the public's imagination."

"And what about you?"

"Battles like that, most people just count the bodies when it's said and done," stated Marius with a slight shrug. "I just allowed myself to become lost in the aftermath. War was over, so I just disappeared."

"And you stayed here."

"My wife and child died because I couldn't..," began Marius, the threat of tears evident in his voice. "…because I _failed_ to protect them. There's no 'moving on' when your wife and unborn child die because you couldn't save them."

Taking a deep breath, Bowman stood watching Marius, looking at the old man's slumped shoulders as he sat in the entryway.

"So what happens now?" asked Marius, his eyes still locked on the distant forest.

Slinging his weapon up onto his shoulder, Bowman let out a long sigh.

"What happens now is that I'm going to get some rest before I go back out on post," replied Bowman evenly as he stepped past Marius out into the mid-morning heat.

"And the Captain, what do you plan to tell her?"

Turning back around, Bowman looked over at Marius.

"History says the Marines held this valley to defend the people of this town from the Cylons," began Bowman evenly. "And like you said, myths are a _hard_ thing to shatter. Frankly I'm too tired to try. I'll keep your secret, but only until you give me a reason not to. Are we clear?"

"We're clear, Corporal Bowman," replied Marius.

With that, Bowman turned and began making his way back towards Sims and Auric, intent on getting some sleep.

* * *

**Warstar _Galactica  
_****Command Operations Center  
**

"Based on the wireless fix, they're holed up here in Serenity Valley," stated Colonel Thadius Runel as he pointed down at the chart.

"That's your backyard, Paul, do you know that area very well?" asked Adrian Kelso as he glanced over to the Sagittaron Depot's former Director, Paul Bess.

"Not as well as I'd like," replied Bess evenly as he leaned in over the chart. "Most of that area was declared a historical preserve after the war by the Sagittaron government; no entrance, strictly no-fly. Except for satellite passes, I doubt there's been any intel on that area in decades."

"What _can_ you tell us?" asked Sean Kelso as he too leaned in over the chart.

"Mountainous terrain, dense forest, this time of year a little thicker due to the spring bloom," stated Bess as he continued to ponder the chart. "Except for the depot and the community, it's hundreds of kilometers removed from any population centers. If they made it there, they should have a good chance of holding out, for a while at least."

"At least until prevailing wind patterns start pushing more fallout over that area," continued Runel.

"That is, presuming the Cylons haven't already found them," amended Adrian Kelso evenly.

"Intel is a couple hours old, but under these circumstances it's about as good as any we could expect," countered Runel evenly.

"What about enemy forces and disposition, did your Raptor get any hard data of the Cylons themselves?" asked Sean Kelso as he leaned back against a rail surrounding the upper gallery. "If we do go in, what kind of resistance could we be looking at?"

"At last report, six Baseships confirmed in dispersed orbital positions on the near side of the planet, two within ten minutes orbital transition," replied Runel evenly. "Each Baseship appears to be supporting between three and five full squadrons of Raiders."

At that, Adrian Kelso let out a long whistle, shaking his head gently.

"That's a lot of firepower," muttered Bess. "And there could still me more Cylons lurking on the far side out of direct DRADIS range."

"What about maneuvering a ship back in amongst the derelict fleet in orbit?" offered the civilian liner captain, Jack Foster.

"No good," replied Adrian Kelso evenly, shaking his head. "After you all jumped, the Cylons realized we'd been using the derelicts to hide our escape, they ripped the remaining hulks to shreds."

"There's bound to still be some debris, enough to muck up DRADIS," offered Runel.

"But jumping a ship into that much chaotic movement is risky at best," countered Sean Kelso. "We simply can't afford to lose a whole ship in a collision with a tumbling hulk."

"So we have to find another way," said Foster evenly. "What about sending in a Raptor force?"

"We could be looking at as many as three hundred and fifty Marines and civilians down there," stated Bess evenly.

"That's at least, conservatively, thirty-five to forty Raptors," muttered Sean Kelso as he stood there, arms crossed, mulling.

"Didn't I see some of your deck gang moving over some heavier Warthog dropships?" asked Runel. "They're older, but they should be able to retrieve a good chunk of those troops with no trouble what-so-ever."

"They could, except that we have no pilots aboard right now qualified to fly them," replied Sean Kelso, shaking his head lightly. "An active mission is a bad time to be learning your ship's controls."

"So we're back to sending in a force of Raptors," interjected Bess.

"They could jump in intra-atmo," offered Jack Foster. "Radiation from the bombardment should mask them from orbital detection."

"True, but the Scimitar we picked up reported Cylon Raiders operating within the atmosphere," replied Sean Kelso. "If they are still flying patrols over the target, and we should assume as much if they're searching for our Marines on the ground, those Raptors would be easy pickings, especially loaded down with personnel and gear. They'll need fighter cover."

"So we have to take in a carrier," nodded Runel.

"One carrier, against a minimum of six Baseships?" scoffed Adrian Kelso. "Speaking from experience, those are bad odds."

"With escort, they should be able to hold them off long enough…" continued Runel, pausing as Sean Kelso held up a hand.

"They'd be in obit as much as an hour and a half," began Commander Sean Kelso. "Even if we took in every last combat-capable ship we have, we _might_ be able to hold off the Cylon forces already deployed in that region, but that's more than enough time for them to call in reinforcements."

"We can't just give up on them, sir," snapped Jack Foster. "Not without even trying."

Looking over at the civilian captain, Sean Kelso tried to hide his anger, not so much at Foster's outburst, but from his own frustration. He didn't want to leave anyone behind he didn't have to; too many people had already died. But he couldn't risk the survival of his fleet, the tens of thousands under his charge for only a few hundred.

So it was, standing there, at the center of the assemblage, all eyes on him that Sean Kelso continued to grapple mentally with the problem.

How could they rescue those Marines?

As everyone stood there, silent, mulling over the chart, Commander Sean Kelso's gaze began to wander, absent of focus as he continued to mull the problem. Finally, his eyes settled on a lone object, a Viper, or rather, the situation table marker used to show Viper positions on the table during operations.

Any force they sent would need air cover, but how to get it there without risking the loss of an entire ship?

His eyes still locked on the Viper marker, Kelso began hearing a slight clicking noise.

His gaze shifting slightly, he saw that Jack Foster had begun absently playing with another object in his hands.

It took a moment for Kelso to realize what it was; it was a nametag.

As Foster continued to glare down at the chart on the table, he was absently pulling the magnetic attachment device on the back of the nametag free, only to let it snap back into place a moment later.

Click…Click…Click…

Suddenly, out of the distraction, Commander Sean Kelso had a thought.

The Viper…The nametag…

Reaching over, slowly taking the nametag from Foster's hand, much to the curious surprise of Foster himself, Sean Kelso himself began to pull the magnetic device on the back free, then let it snap back into place.

"That just might work," he muttered as he again pulled the magnet free and let it again fall back into place on the back of the nametag. "That might just _fraki_ng work…"

As a slow smile began to spread across Sean Kelso's lips he clasped his fingers tightly around the nametag.

"What might work?" muttered Adrian Kelso dubiously as he watched his son hand the nametag back to Jack Foster.

"Okay, bear with me here…" began Sean Kelso as he snatched up a sheet of paper.


	8. Part 7 - All Part of the Service

**Serenity Valley  
****Sagittaron Colony  
**

"And that makes seven, Captain," muttered Marius as he slowly lifted himself back up from the ground and began brushing the thin layer of dust away from his uniform.

"Yes, it does," replied Captain Gaines evenly as she slowly pulled herself back out of the fighting position. "Team leaders give me status and ammo reports!"

As she stood up on the parapet and looked down at the now-unmoving Centurions lying at the bottom of the slope at the edge of the tree line, Captain Gaines listened as the various teams deployed along that section of the perimeter called in the requested reports to her.

Yet even before the last report came in, a call suddenly echoed out along the line, a call that sent a momentary chill down her spine.

"Medic!"

Turning, Gaines looked over to one of the light machine gun emplacements and saw one of the Marines manning the position frantically waving over the rushing medic, Corporal Peters.

Making her way over to the position, Gaines watched as Peters began assessing the injured Marine.

"How's it look, doc?" asked Gaines as she kneeled down beside the position.

"Clean hit, straight through the deltoid muscle, no damage to the bone," replied Peters evenly as she reached into her gear and retrieved a compress bandage and a syringe of morpha.

"No, no morpha," muttered the injured Marine through gritting teeth.

"Don't be such a stubborn bastard, Auric," muttered Peters as she prepared to administer the shot.

"I said no!" snapped Auric more forcefully as he clutched onto Peters' hand.

"Doc says you need a shot, you get a shot, Marine," stated Gaines evenly.

"With all due respect, Captain, we need every body we have on the line, and I have no intention of relinquishing my post," began Auric as he slowly let go of Peters' hand. "Doc can dress the wound, but no morpha, I need my head clear if I'm going to continue to man this position."

Looking from Auric to Peters, Gaines slowly began to nod her head.

"Very well, Auric," she said.

"Fine with me," chimed in Peters as she placed the syringe back in her gear. "Not me who's going to have to deal with the pain."

"Just make the dressing tight, doc," continued Gaines as she slowly stood back up. "Won't be any good to us if it gets infected or he slowly bleeds out."

"Will do, Captain," replied Peters evenly as she began applying the dressing over the wound.

As Peters tied off the dressing, Auric grunted a few times, his face flushing a deep red from the pain, taking several deep, deliberate breaths as Peters finished dressing the wound to his shoulder.

"Frak that hurt," sighed Auric as Peters finished applying the dressing.

Nevertheless, with the bandage now in place, Auric slowly slid himself back down into the fighting hole and gingerly picked back up his rifle, checked the ammo magazine, then cast his attention back down towards the tree line.

"All teams have reported in, no fatalities this time, Captain," stated Marius as he stepped up to the position.

"This time," muttered Gaines bitterly as she again began making her way back along the parapet. "Seven strikes against our lines in as many hours, little bit more than simple probing of our defenses."

"That it is, Captain," agreed Marius as he followed along just a pace behind her. "By now the Cylons have a fairly complete picture of what we have in the way of defenses."

Pausing, Gaines turned back to face the old veteran.

"You think they're getting ready to hit us in force?"

"Cylons aren't much for fraking around for long," muttered Marius as he motioned his head towards the sun setting on the horizon. "If you're asking my opinion, Captain, I'd have to say they'll likely hit us full-on tonight, try and overrun our positions, take us out once and for all."

Looking herself over at the setting sun, Gaines let out a long breath, a slight sardonic smile creeping across her lips.

"You know, it's funny."

"What's that, Captain?"

"We've lost twelve people so far with them whittling away at us like this," began Captain Gaines evenly. "Frankly, at this point I think I'd actually prefer the full-on fight."

"And as strange as it might seem to you, Captain, I understand exactly how you feel," replied Marius evenly. "Hit-and-run attacks leave you edgy, off balance. But when you're in the midst of a real heavy firefight, everything else goes right out the fraking window except doing anything and everything to stay alive; there's clarity in that simplicity."

Slowly, Gaines began to nod her head.

"But, keep in mind, in a stand-up fight, you're gonna lose a hell-of-a-lot of your people," continued Marius, sighing deeply as he finished his thought. "In fact, chances are good you'll lose'em _all_."

"This from the man who convinced me to make a stand here in the first place," sighed Gaines as she again looked over to Marius.

"All part of the service, Captain," grinned Marius as he pulled out a canteen and took a deep swig of water.

* * *

"You two will try anything to get out of standing a post," said Corporal Bowman as he stepped back up to the fighting position.

"Getting shot was _not_ my idea," replied Auric as he winced against the pain still coursing through his shoulder.

"That's right, it was _my_ idea," grinned Sims as he loaded a fresh belt of ammunition into the feed tray of the light machine gun.

"Well, when you decide to stop fraking around and set out to really get yourselves killed, just do me the favor of letting me know beforehand," muttered Bowman as he slowly sat down on the edge of the fighting position. "I don't want any bullet magnets standing next to me."

"I'll be sure to do that," replied Auric sardonically as he picked up his canteen.

Slowly unscrewing the top, Auric tipped the canteen back, but to his annoyance found that it was empty. Putting the canteen back in its pouch in subdued disgust, Auric turned around to see Bowman handing him another, this one full.

Taking a deep swig off the canteen, Auric nodded in appreciation and handed it back.

"So what did the Captain have you doing over on the South perimeter?" asked Sims evenly as he slapped the feed cover into place and cycled the first round into the chamber.

"I don't know what the _Captain_ had him doing, but I'm willing to bet he took the chance to check up on Corporal Lenore while he was over there," said Auric as he slowly rotated his shoulder a bit, as much to ward off the throbbing as test the limits of his mildly damaged limb.

Sims let out a slight chuckle as he glanced back over at Bowman.

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about," countered Bowman evenly, mock-innocence in his tone as he stretched his back a bit.

"Who do you think _you're_ kidding?" burst Sims, half-self-conscious a moment later when he realized just how loud he'd been. "Since the day she arrived at the depot you've been watching her."

Now Bowman let out a slight chuckle.

"Bit of an exaggeration, don't you think," he smiled.

"The hell it is," chimed in Auric. "Hand to the gods, there were times she'd let her hair down for a moment to adjust it a bit, and there _you'd_ be, over in some corner watching her like a rutting ape getting ready to snatch her up and lay her down."

With that, all three let out a good laugh. It felt good to laugh.

After over three days of stress, combat, death, of little to no sleep, long patrols and poor food, it simply felt _good_ to laugh. At least for the most part; even as he let out the laugh, Auric found himself wincing in pain, but nevertheless enjoyed the laugh as well. As the three of them slowly fell back into relative silence, all three soon found themselves absently watching the sun setting on the horizon.

"There goes the sun," muttered Sims.

"Mm-hmm," mumbled Bowman as he watched the sun slipping below the distant horizon.

No one said it out loud, but all three were thinking roughly the same thought as they watched the sunset.

Soon it would be dark…

And while the daytime hadn't exactly been safe, the prospect of nightfall held a deeper foreboding; the reality of the enemy relentlessly knocking on their proverbial door mixing with that primordial fear of darkness…

With the prospects of an unknown, frightful, perhaps violently short future closing in around them with the nightfall, the three tired men sat there, reflecting, on their lives, on their regrets, on their fatigue…

Absently, Bowman retrieved a piece of gum from his pocket and popped it into his mouth…

Sims noticed and simply extended a hand…

Bowman handed, somewhat reluctantly, another piece over to Sims' outstretched hand…

Auric pulled a cigarette from his pocket; as soon as darkness fell, he wouldn't be able to smoke it lest he give away the position…

As if the Cylons didn't _already_ know where it was after seven separate probes of their lines…

Nevertheless, with the sun creeping ever further beyond the far off horizon, Auric took rapid, almost feverish puffs; to calm his nerves, to forget the pain in his shoulder, to do _something_ other than simply wait for the Cylons to attack again…

"Lenore is a cute one, isn't she?" muttered Bowman absently as he watched the sunset.

"Kind of woman you could settle down with," replied Sims softly.

"Kind of woman who could curl your toes without even trying," offered Auric.

There was no sarcasm, no double-entendres, just the pensive honesty of men who weren't sure they would live, hoped to the gods they wouldn't die, felt both mentally and physically as though they fell somewhere in the between the two, and just wanted to pretend, at least for a moment, that they might actually survive long enough to see the sun rise again.

* * *

**Warstar _Galactica  
_****Command Operations Center  
**

"Now if we're able to pull this off, the Cylons are going to be coming at us hard and fast, so let me stress right now how important it is for all your ships to be in position," finished Commander Sean Kelso as he looked at the assemblage of officers before him.

Unlike the previous meeting between himself and all the other commanders, both military and civilian, this meeting was primarily limited to the CO's from the combat vessels, those that were in the proverbial 'need-to-know' category. His father was there, as was Paul Bess, but most were the officers he'd be depending on during the rescue mission.

"Recon element will launch in thirty minutes. Upon their return, _Galactica_ will send you the go or no-go," stated Kelso evenly as he motioned towards the digital clock on the wall. "Are there any final questions before we adjourn?"

Looking around, Kelso was both pleased and a bit surprised when no one piped up. From the looks on the faces of a few of them they probably had more than a few concerns, but there was a harsh reality to war; rarely could all concerns be expunged.

"Good, then if there is no further business, I bid you and yours crews good hunting," finished Commander Sean Kelso evenly.

As he watched the assemblage begin to filter out the entryway, Commander Sean Kelso could hardly miss the presence of his father holding place beside him, even if only visible in his peripheral vision.

As soon as all the others had left, the son slowly turned to his father.

"You were awfully silent during the briefing," began Sean Kelso as he leaned over against the table.

"Didn't have anything to say," replied Adrian Kelso with a meager shrug.

"There's never been a time where you didn't have _something_ to say."

"And this isn't like when you were in primary school asking me to help you with your homework either," countered Adrian Kelso evenly. "This is a mission, life and death; _this_ is combat."

"All the more reason to speak your mind," replied Sean Kelso.

"Fine; you want my opinion?"

"Yes."

"It's risky, but I think it's a good plan," replied Adrian Kelso flatly.

Almost taken aback by his father's answer, Commander Sean Kelso looked over at his Adrian, somewhat stunned.

"Did you honestly expect me to say something else?" shot Adrian Kelso as he noted the surprised look on his son's face.

"Actually, I kinda did, yes."

Taking a deep breath, Adrian took a half step closer to his son.

"Sean, I could say any number of things," began Adrian with half a grin. "I could nitpick about how complicated the timing is, how many things hinge on other things happening in the right order, but the simple fact is this; you are in command."

Pausing, Adrian leveled his son with a most decidedly no nonsense look as he let those words sink in.

"I told you before, this fleet can have only _one_ Commander," continued Adrian a moment later. "And if you still have trouble believing me, believe your own observations."

"What do you mean?"

"Simple; no one around this table offered any objection to your plan," replied Adrian evenly. "Not because they're afraid to speak up, but because you took command, just as you should."

Father and son looked at each other for a moment. Reaching over, Adrian clasped his hand onto Sean's shoulder.

"The trick to command isn't to always have the _right_ answer, a lot of good people have died waiting for a commander to come up with the 'right' answer," continued Adrian evenly. "Sometimes all you can do is come up with a solution, _hope_ it's the right one, and run with it even if you have doubts."

"This sounds strangely familiar," muttered Sean somewhat dubiously.

"It should, I remember saying something similar to you right before that junior pyramid match against Interlake," replied Adrian with a slight shrug.

"We lost that game, dad," scoffed Sean lightly.

"Then consider this a-once-in-a-lifetime rematch, and don't lose this time," replied Adrian as he reached over and gave his son one last hug. "And don't get yourself killed either."

With that, the elder Kelso quickly turned, lest his son see the tears welling up in his eyes, and made his way out of the Operations Center.

Now alone in the room, alone with his own thoughts, Commander Sean Kelso looked at the overlays lying out on the operations table.

Every ship involved, every maneuver to be performed, every timetable to be followed, and it all came down to this moment…

Looking up at the clock on the wall, Kelso noted the time; twenty minutes till the recon bird launched.

"Okay," sighed Commander Sean Kelso, thumping his fist lightly against the tabletop. "Now or never."

With a sigh of finality, he straightened back up, turned, and walked out of the Operations Center.

* * *

**Serenity Valley  
****Sagittaron Colony  
**

"One illumination round on pre-registered target nova-one-three-eight," whispered Bowman evenly as he waited for the response from the other end of the field-phone line.

"_Shot, over_," replied the voice on the other end a moment later even as a dull thump echoed out through the night.

"Shot, out," replied Bowman simply as he set the handset down on the parapet in front of him.

With deliberate movements, Bowman slowly brought his rifle up to his shoulder and aimed in towards the darkness below. Out of the corner of his eye, Bowman could see that Sims and Auric were likewise sighting in, but on what wasn't yet clear.

All they knew for certain was that _something_ was making a lot of noise in the treeline at the bottom of the slope.

Although a few sets of night vision had been squirreled away by Marius, the whimsical laws of combat negated their use; no compatible batteries were left. As such, in only a matter of moments, the mortar-fired illumination round called for by Bowman would ignite overhead, casting its dull glow down onto the tree line.

Pop…

In an instant, the early morning darkness was excised by the dull yellow-orange glow of the illume round. As the illume round bobbed on its small parachute in the gentle breeze, the new light cast eerie shadows amid the shrubs and branches below.

But while the depths of the underbrush resisted illumination, what could not be hidden was the gentle glint of polished chrome resting amid the branches below. As the menacing image of the oscillating red eyes flared to life, a couple at first, then a dozen, then several dozen, the mechanical whirl of servos and metallic joints articulating echoed out along the slope.

"Open fire!" burst Bowman as the first Centurion pushed past the tree line and began making its way up the slope.

Even as the order left his lips, the Centurions below, moving deliberately, methodically, raised up the weapons mounted on their forearms and opened up on the Marines holding the high ground.

The deluge of rounds ripping through the air mere centimeters above their heads, however, did little to deter the Marines who likewise opened up on the automatons below.

In the dull glow of the descending illume round, tracers began ripping across the distance between the two lines; the Centurions below, pushing relentlessly forward even as some fell to the ground, the Marines on the high ground laying down a punishing wall of lead that ripped through the advancing chrome line.

As he paused to load a fresh magazine into his rifle, the parapet in front of Bowman exploded in a hail of impacts, kicking up dirt and dust as he ducked down away from the rounds cracking past the spot where his head had been only a moment before.

Snatching up the field phone handset, Bowman keyed the device as he braved a hesitant look back over the parapet.

"Heavy Rain, Heavy Rain, this is OP-Six-North, fire mission!" snapped Bowman as the parapet in front of him again exploded in a hail of impacts. "Centurions advancing from tree line, PRT nova-one-three-zero through nova-one-four-five, fire for effect, over!"

"_Copy OP-Six-North; Centurions in the tree line; PRT nova-one-three-zero through nova-one-four-five; FFE_."

"Solid Copy, Heavy Rain!" coughed Bowman as he swiped his hand at the dust cloud kicked up by the impacts.

A moment later, several dull thumps of the mortars firing from the courtyard behind them echoed out through the early morning darkness. A moment after that, the tree line below exploded as the high-explosive rounds landed right on top of the advancing Cylons. As the explosions shifted, moving laterally along the tree line, stitching their way along the Centurion advance, a cry of exultation echoed out along the line of Marines on top of the ridge

At the bottom of the slope, the Centurions, unaware or uncaring of the destruction raining down from above, remained oblivious to the blasts making their way along the tree line, pulverizing the Cylon line. But as the warheads continued to detonate, even the hardy chrome bodies of the Centurions were ripped apart, metallic limbs, severed heads, tossed around like broken toys, blown in every direction at the base of the hill.

Finally, the last mortar round landed, literally shattering the last of the Centurions that had ventured forth from the tree line. As the dust began to clear, a surreal calm settling over the scene, the Marines perched at the top of the slope sat with baited breath, watching, waiting, weapons at the ready.

"Is that it?" muttered Sims as he continued to slowly traverse the light machine gun he manned along the tree line below.

Before anyone said anything, the illume round overhead burned out, casting the area back into early morning darkness.

With his eyes slow to adjust once more to the darkness, Bowman blinked, trying to excise the night-blindness. As the after-shadows of the light finally began to clear, Corporal Dwayne Bowman almost wished he hadn't been able to see what was coming…

Nestled in the bushes, dozens of red oscillating eyes rested in the underbrush at the base of the slope.

And suddenly, all along the tree line, they surged forward; not slowly, not methodically as before…

In a horrible mechanical sprint that almost defied human reflex, they smashed forward over the craters and shattered remains of the Centurions cut down by the mortars.

With leaps and bounds, they charged forward, the guns on their forearms blazing as the Marine line once more exploded in a hail of gunfire.

* * *

"Anything?" burst Captain Gaines, her attention locked on the flashes and errant tracers racing skyward behind the buildings along the North side of the courtyard.

"Nothing, Captain," sighed Lance Corporal Vallero as he sat literally cradling half a dozen handsets, rapidly switching between them as he too glanced over at the chaos erupting towards the North.

In frustration, Gaines glanced down at her watch; early morning, they'd almost made it through the night without an attack…

From the sound of the firefight, however, they now might not live till sunrise…

Glancing to her left, Gaines saw Marius, his eyes locked on the veritable fireworks just beyond the buildings, gently cradling his rifle, Vera.

"This is _it_, isn't it?"

Marius snorted, then nodded as he continued to watch the flashing lights of combat.

Looking back over herself, Gaines felt a chill in her spine as she heard a blood-curdling scream echo out amid the gunfire.

"You want to go over there, don't you?" muttered Marius as he glanced over at Gaines.

"My people are fighting over there, dying, I _owe_ it to them to be over there," replied Gaines evenly, her entire body visibly tense.

"No, you owe it to them to stay in a position where you can work this fight effectively," countered Marius as he looked down at Vera and checked the chamber. "Just because the Cylons are limiting this phase of their assault to North sector doesn't mean that won't change; you're not fighting just one or two positions, Captain, your job is to be ready to fight the entire perimeter."

"And what about you, Marius?"

Hefting up Vera, Marius grinned over at Gaines as he started walking towards the sound of battle.

"_I'm_ a trigger-puller, Captain," he began as he made his way off across the courtyard. "Time for me and Vera to join this dance."

Watching Marius go, Gaines kicked a small stone at her feet, sending it skittering off across the ground in frustration as she turned back to Vallero.

"Status?"

"South, East and West sectors all quiet, Captain," replied Vallero evenly as he continued to shuffle from one handset to another. "Still no solid word from North…"

The pause was abrupt as Vallero suddenly pushed the handset in his hand closer to his ear, slapping his other hand over his other ear as he concentrated. Spurred by the look on the man's face, Gaines took a couple tentative steps towards her wireless operator. As the man looked back up, there was a cold look on his face.

"North sector reports the Cylons have begun rushing the final protective line," he said feverishly. "They're reporting heavy casualties, nearing squash ammo; line of resistance nearing collapse."

Glancing back over her shoulder at the thunderous cacophony, Gaines shifted uncomfortably.

"Get on the horn to the mortar teams," began Gaines as she pointed over at the silent position several meters away. "Tell them to begin peppering the base of that slope…"

"No joy, Captain," replied Vallero, shaking his head. "Mortar teams report they have exhausted all ammo."

Glancing over at the Marines milling around the silent tubes, Gaines cupped her hands around her mouth.

"Out of ammo?"

"That's affirmative, Captain!" shouted the mortar section leader.

"Then spike those tubes, grab your rifles and prepare for orders!"

"Aye, Captain!"

Just then, another series of explosions echoed out from the North perimeter. While she knew it was her place to manage the fight from where she was, Gaines felt little more than helpless, worthless, standing at the center of that courtyard.

"Frak it!" she snapped as she broke into a sprint across the courtyard. "Vallero, get on the horn, I want one rifle squad each from South, East and West to reinforce the North sector on the double!"

"Aye, Captain," called Vallero as he once again began shuffling the handsets in his lap, relaying the order to each of the other areas of the perimeter.

As he finished relaying Gaines' order over the last handset, the wireless operator began hearing a low beep. At first, he couldn't figure out where it was coming from, half thinking one of the field phones had perhaps malfunctioned. When Vallero finally realized that the low tone was in fact emanating from the wireless transmitter still monitoring for a signal, he practically tripped over the myriad of wires stretching from the field phones as he scrambled over to the transmitter.

Dropping down next to the wireless set, Vallero quickly toggled a few switches; there was an incoming text message…

Toggling one last switch, the Vallero watched as the message streamed across the small screen on the face of the wireless set.

Almost breathless, he looked up excitedly, but Captain Gaines was nowhere in view.

* * *

As she stepped out from the narrow alleyway just behind the defensive line of Marines, Gaines had to dive to the ground as round ripped through the air just over her head, slamming into the already bullet-riddled walls of the structure behind her. Whether the rounds were stray fire or actually intended for her she couldn't quite tell, nevertheless, she stayed flat on her belly and began slowly crawling her way towards the trench.

As she made her way forward, Gaines quickly looked around, trying to gauge the situation as best she could.

Off to her left, a Medic was frantically applying a bandage to a massive chest wound. To her right, two Marines were dragging their unconscious or more likely dead colleague back away from a machine gun emplacement while a third worked feverishly to get it back into action.

As she finally reached the trench line, Gaines rotated herself around and dropped into the trench, swinging her rifle up to the ready as she looked down across the slope. Almost as soon as she poked her head over the parapet, the ground in front of Gaines exploded in a hail of impacts that startled her, causing her to stumble back against the back wall of the trench.

Reaching up with her hands, Gaines began frantically swiping at the dirt that had been thrown up into her eyes, partially blinding her as the thunderous echoes of gunfire continued to pierce the air. As she finally regained some measure of sight, the first thing Captain Gaines saw Marius squatting down beside the trench, smiling down at her.

"Just couldn't stay put could you, Captain?"

Almost as soon as the words left his mouth, the narrow alleys between the buildings disgorged a couple dozen Marines towards the trench; the reinforcements from the other areas Gaines had called for.

As the newly arrived Marines poured into the trenches and likewise began firing their weapons down the slope, Gaines slowly pulled herself back out of the trench, stooping just enough to not draw fire from the tree line below.

"We need to get a better picture of what's happening here," she said as she began making her way off along the line with Marius in tow.

All along the line, the Marines were zealously, even fanatically firing at the Centurions below. The dead and the dying littered the area almost as liberally as the spent shell casings. Collapsed, slumped over within the trenches, lying flat on their backs, unseeing eyes staring coldly into the early morning darkness above, a few were still alive, moaning, screaming, calling out frantically for a medic, for their mothers, to whatever gods they thought might be listening.

As she continued her way along the line, Gaines caught sight of Corporal Bowman as the Marine rapidly, methodically worked a light machine gun, firing burst after burst, shifting targets as the Cylons continued to pour forth from the tree line below. Since the last three NCO's Gaines had come across were either dead or wounded, Corporal Bowman seemed as good a place to start.

"Bowman!" shouted Gaines as she kneeled down beside the machine gun position he was manning.

If the Marine had heard her, he gave no outward signs of response, instead firing off another series of bursts down the slope.

"Bowman!" snapped Marius as he reached over and slapped the Marine on the back of the helmet.

Startled, Bowman turned around, and made no attempt to hide the significant glare on his face as he saw who'd smacked him.

"What's the word, Bowman?" shouted Gaines as she leaned in closer.

"The word, Captain, is '_fraked_', as in '_we are_'!" replied Bowman as he quickly swapped out the nearly glowing hot barrel, loaded a fresh belt of ammo into the weapon's feed tray, slapped down the cover, and tossed the empty ammo can off down the slope.

"Something a little more informative, Corporal," snapped Gaines.

Not answering, all of Bowman's concentration was on the swarm of Centurions at the edge of the tree line below, just out of Gaines' direct line of sight. Stepping up his rate of fire, Bowman let out a disgusted curse as he fired off the last round of machine gun ammo. Without missing a beat, Bowman swung his rifle around from his shoulder and began firing short bursts down the slope.

"With all due respect, Captain, the situation is as bad as it looks," snapped Bowman as he paused, pulled a grenade from his gear, popped the safety and main pins, and hurled the grenade off down the slope.

A moment later, the thunderclap of the grenade detonating rolled up the slope, a plume of dust rising into the sky. With dirt beginning to rain back down, Bowman leaned back and looked up at Gaines and Marius.

"Best we can tell, we've got about twenty dead, half-again as many wounded," shouted Bowman, barely audible over the torrent of gunfire echoing out around them.

"What about the Cylons?"

Before Bowman could answer, a Centurion literally vaulted the last few feet up the slope, popping into view. Surprised, frozen, Gaines felt that moment stretch into eternity as she looked across into its oscillating red eye.

With an audible machine click, the Centurions forearm mounted weapons snapped into place…just as its head exploded…

His rifle tucked neatly into his shoulder, Marius took a tentative step forward as he fired off another burst that knocked the Centurion back down the hill. Spinning back around, Marius kneeled down just as a return barrage from the tree line below cracked through the air just over the trio.

"Getting a little hot here, Captain!" shouted Marius, grinning a bit.

"Pass the word down along the line, Bowman; everyone prepare to fall back," snapped Gaines as she jumped up and charged off down one of the narrow alleyways.

As he watched her go, Bowman glanced up at Marius.

"How the _frak_ am I supposed to pass that down the line?" said Bowman as he swung back around and fired off a burst into an emerging Centurion below. "We need every rifle we've got just to hold this position and all the lines for the field phones have been severed…"

"You let me worry about that!" snapped Marius simply. "Just be ready to get your ass up out of the hole when the order comes down!"

Looking back over at the old Marine, Bowman almost laughed.

"Just try and keep your head down," countered Bowman. "You may be thick, but you're not indestructible."

"Ten feet tall and bullet-proof!" growled Marius as he charged off along the trench line.

* * *

As Gaines reached the cistern at the center of the courtyard, she practically skidded to stop.

"Captain, I received…" began Lance Corporal Vallero as Gaines began digging around in one of her cargo pockets.

"No time, Vallero!" snapped Gaines as she dropped down and yanked out the map tucked in her cargo pocket. "I've got to find a way out of this fraking hell-hole!"

Spreading it out across the ground, Gaines kneeled down over it as she switched on her flashlight.

After a few frustrating moments, she conceded she had little inspiration.

While the abandoned settlement once known as the township of Serenity was a perfect defensible position, resting gently on top of a small hill, with the very real possibility that the Cylons had in fact surrounded the entire position, escape by ground meant running either headlong into the firefight already underway, or charging headlong into a possible Cylon ambush in any other direction.

Frustration mounting, Gaines heard footfalls from behind. Glancing up, she saw Marius.

"North perimeter is ready to pull back, Captain," he said as he stepped up to her.

"Question is, where to pull them back to," sighed Gaines as she motioned down at the map in front of her. "You know this area better than anyone, any ideas?"

"Best bet would be to pull your people back in through this courtyard, contract the perimeter towards the Southwest, here," began Marius as he pointed down at a section of the map. "This area is a little steep, but it'll drop right into a small ravine, a creek bed."

"Bowman's patrol covered that area," noted Gaines as she glanced over some notes she's scribbled into a small notepad. "Bowman said there was a small clearing down in that area, we could use it as a rally point."

"You don't want to go there, Captain," said Marius as he waved his hand over the map dismissively. "That clearing is an old graveyard."

"A graveyard?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Looking down at the clearing, Gaines fought to ignore as best she could the continuing rumble of the firefight raging on the North perimeter.

"Not much choice," sighed Gaines as she began folding the map. "It's either make for the graveyard, or end up in one."

Silent, Marius watched her.

"You'll take point, Marius," she began as she slipped the map back into her cargo pocket.

"Afraid I can't do that, Captain," he sighed.

"Any why not?"

"Like I told you before; you and your people can retreat, but _I_ make my stand here."

"Marius…"

"_I_ make my stand _here_, Captain Gaines."

She didn't have time for this. Whatever bravado Marius was holding onto that made him want to commit what was nothing short of suicide by remaining, Captain Gaines, and more importantly the people under her command, didn't have time to muddle through some long-winded psychoanalysis.

Almost before she knew what she was doing, Gaines had the barrel of her sidearm pointed directly at Marius' head.

"We are pulling out of here, Marius," seethed Gaines as she stared down the barrel at the old Marine. "You've been running up and down Serenity Valley for forty years; that makes you the _perfect_ scout. You can either lead us out of here, or I will shoot you where you stand."

Silent, unsure, Vallero simply sat gawking at the two of them.

If Marius was intimidated, his expression gave no sign as he looked back along the weapon at Gaines.

"Fine," he said finally.

As she slowly lowered her sidearm, Marius suddenly lashed out and connected a solid right hook against the side of Gaines' cheek. Staggering back, but not losing her footing, Gaines glared back over at Marius.

"Didn't they ever teach you not to point your weapon at anything you don't intend to destroy?" snapped Marius evenly.

Raising the sidearm back up, Gaines hesitated, then dropped it back down, and before Marius could react, sent the old Marine staggering back himself with a solid uppercut. Shaking his head slightly, shaking off what he had to admit was one hell-of-a punch, Marius spit out a spot of blood, then looked back over at Gaines, grinning.

"I'll pass the word on the line, Captain," he said simply as he turned and charged once more back towards the North sector. "Red star cluster when you're ready for us to pull out."

* * *

Pulling the thumb clip and pin from his last grenade, Corporal Dwayne Bowman hurled it skittering down the incline.

To no effect; a dud…

"_Frak_!"

Aiming in, barely able to see the grenade he'd just tossed, Bowman let off a burst…

A miracle shot, more accurate than any he'd ever fired on a range, the grenade exploded where it sat; right between two Centurions…

Just as Marius dropped into the fighting position beside him…

"Get ready to move, Bowman!" he shouted as he snapped Vera up into his shoulder and began firing. "I passed the word, red five-star cluster pops overhead, we move!"

"Fine with me, I think we've worn out our welcome here," replied Bowman as he slapped in a fresh magazine, his last full magazine…

"Where's your team?"

"There!" replied Bowman, motioning his head over his shoulder, but not turning to look himself.

Glancing back, Marius saw two bodies; one with a chest riddled with holes, the other missing his head.

"Sims and Auric bought it in the first charge," said Bowman simply, soberly.

Without a word, Marius simply nodded his head, took a breath, and then scrambled over to the two dead bodies, pulled the few ammo mags in their pouches, and returned, passing them to Bowman.

Overhead, a bright flash of red light burst to life. Glancing back, Bowman and Marius saw a cluster of five red flares slowly dropping down through the air.

"There's the signal," snapped Marius as he began pulling himself up out of the fighting hole. "Let's move, Marine!"

"Copy that!" grunted Bowman as he jumped up and rolled out of the fighting hole.

All along the line, the Marines who'd survived the melee began pulling back, moving en masse back in through the alleyways towards the inner courtyard.

* * *

"They're pulling back," grinned the Three as she watched the battle unfolding from another nearby hilltop.

"But they've taken a heavy toll on our Centurions," noted the Six as she too watched the Colonials begin moving back through the buildings.

"Which is why we inhibited their higher functions in the first place," noted the Three casually. "The Centurions will continue the attack no matter how many casualties they take. No matter, the humans will be wiped out before long, as it should be."

"We still should have considered an air strike first," countered the Six flatly.

"But you're forgetting the valuable experience that our Centurions will be able to draw upon once we've downloaded the data," said the Three as she continued to watch the battle with almost childish glee. "So many billions of people lived here on the Colonies, there are bound to be more survivors, other resistance groups to deal with; the Centurions need this experience if they do appear."

"You may be right," sighed the Six.

* * *

"He's dead!" shouted Bowman.

He and Marius had barely popped out of their position when Bowman had glanced over and seen another Marine desperately attempting to drag their buddy back into one of the alleys. Rushing over, Bowman had felt his heart skip a beat when he saw that it was Corporal Sera Lenore dragging the Marine.

"He's dead, Lenore!" shouted Bowman again as he grabbed hold of her gear and shook her.

Looking up at Bowman, Lenore seemed stunned, her eyes barely registering his presence. His hand firmly gripped around the shoulder strap of her gear, Bowman gave Lenore another shake.

"We need to get out of here, now!"

"But Riggs…" she muttered.

"He's gone!" shouted Bowman once more as he pointed down at the Marine lying on the ground, his face all but ripped off.

"Forget it, she's in shock," snapped Marius as he looked over at Lenore. "Let's just go."

Stunned, stumbling, Lenore barely kept her feet as Marius and Bowman, one on either side of her, began leading Lenore in through one of the alleyways.

"We got hit, a mortar I think, landed right by us…" muttered Lenore.

"She might have a concussion," noted Bowman as they continued to move on through the alley.

"We don't get the frak out of here, she'll have a hell-of-a lot worse," countered Marius flatly as the trio raced back out into the courtyard.

As they did so, Lenore seemed to regain a bit of her strength, shrugging off the two Marines, but nevertheless, still guided by them as they continued forward.

"Move, move, move!" shouted Gaines as she frantically waved the mass of stunned Marines rushing into the courtyard from the alleys off towards the opposite side of the quad.

With that, the Captain, the retreating Marines from North sector, the former mortar crews, the Lance Corporal Vallero with wireless set in tow, everybody, began racing off across the courtyard.

"This way!" shouted Marius suddenly, tugging on Lenore, and by default, Bowman, as the old Marine changed direction mid-stride. "I have an idea!"

Curious, but nevertheless following, Bowman and a rapidly reinvigorating Lenore followed Marius' lead.

As it turned out, Marius was heading straight for the old abandoned temple where he'd hidden his cache of weapons.

"What have you got in mind, Marius?" shouted Bowman.

Not answering, Marius let go of his grip on Lenore as he practically exploded in through the front entry of the temple and headed for the stairway leading to the tower.

Breathless, their hearts pounding within their chests, the trio practically vaulted to the top of the stairway. As he paused to try and catch his breath, Bowman looked up to see Marius hefting a weapon onto a makeshift pedestal mount.

But not just any weapon…

The weapon Marius was locking into place was an electrically powered autocannon, a type of weapon usually only mounted on vehicles, its electrical motor driving six rotating barrels, allowing the weapon to put out a near-obscene cyclic rate of six-thousand rounds per minute.

"Don't just stand there gawking, get on the other two!" shouted Marius as he glanced back over at the Bowman and Lenore then pointed to two other positions on either side of him.

"I've never even _touched_ this type of weapon before," muttered Bowman as he hefted another of the autocannons into place.

"It's simple," growled Marius impatiently as he stepped over, fingers pointing frantically as his voice continued to sputter out rapid instructions. "Mount it here, locking pin there, ammo feed here, electric motor here, flip up safety latch, toggle power there, green light means good-to-go, trigger there!"

After observing Marius' clipped instructions to Bowman, Lenore stepped over to the third position and hefted the weapon into place. As the three of them finished preparing the autocannons, the Marines down in the square continued to rush out of the courtyard below as half-a-dozen Centurions slowly stepped out of the alleyways to the North and began raking the area with lethal fire. Watching breathlessly as the Centurions began cutting down the retreating Marines, Bowman and Lenore felt their skin go cold.

"Electric motor on, safety off, gotta a green light, now what Marius?" called Bowman as he watched the Cylon fire begin tearing into the few Marines who stopped to return fire.

"Shoot gods damn it!" shouted Marius flatly as he pushed down on the trigger.

As the three autocannons began firing, the drone of the rounds spewing down into the courtyard below at an ungodsly-rate, a veritable wall of lead slammed into the Centurions at the North side. So quickly did this hail of fire rain down upon them, only one Centurion even managed to look up in response before its chrome body was ripped to shreds.

Indeed, so startling was the explosion of fire from the tower that the Marines trapped in the courtyard themselves scrambled for cover, relieved a moment later as they realized the fire was _not_ directed at them.

"Move, move, fall back!" shouted Marius between droning bursts at the startled Marines below.

"Get the frak out of there, Captain!" shouted Bowman as he caught sight of Gaines amid the chaos.

Glancing up, Gaines nodded and began frantically directing her retreating Marines out the South side of the courtyard.

As the spent casings continued to pile up at their feet, Marius, Bowman and Lenore continued to mow down anything shiny that emerged from the alleys to the North.

"Everyone's out!" shouted Lenore as she motioned down at the last Marine scurried into the alley on the South of the courtyard.

"None too soon," muttered Bowman as his weapon ran dry of ammo.

Within moments, Marius and Lenore were out as well, the smoking barrels slowing to a halt as they released the triggers and looked down into the courtyard below.

For a moment, a surreal calm settled over the area, no sound, no gunfire, only the curious sound of a morning bird chirping at the coming sunrise that had just barely begun to glow on the horizon.

"Do you think it's over?" muttered Lenore as she stood looking down at the alleys to the North.

"Maybe, we must have put quite a dent in their assault force with that volume of fire," noted Bowman as he nodded towards the four dozen or so shattered Centurions lying at the North end of the courtyard.

"I wouldn't…" began Marius, his voice cutting off as he caught sight of something on the North side that startled him.

Even before Bowman and Lenore realized what was happening, Marius had reached out, grabbed a firm hold on the shoulder straps of their combat gear, and literally tossed them tumbling back towards the stairwell…

…just as the retaining wall where the three autocannons were disintegrated in an explosion…

"RPG!" coughed Marius as the dust around them choked the air. "Get the frak down the stairwell before they fire again!"

Scrambling to their feet, Bowman, Lenore and Marius began literally vaulting back down the stairwell. Upon reaching the bottom, Marius shoved Bowman and Lenore towards another doorway at the rear of the structure. Exploding out the back, Lenore and Bowman were shocked to see…no one…

None of the other Marines who'd just fallen back were within sight.

"Just keep moving," snapped Marius as he nudged both Corporals forward.

Leaping up over the now-abandoned defensive positions on the South side, the trio began sliding, jogging, hurtling down the slope towards the tree line below.

From behind, Bowman heard the low machinery whine of Centurions, the crisp clicks of their forearm weapons locking into place. Spurred by the sound alone, he flailed down the hill a little faster but did not dare look back.

Either they'd shoot him in the back or he'd reach the trees…

As he practically dove in through the bushes, followed closely by Lenore and Marius, Bowman heard a cry echo out across the slope.

"Open fire!"

It was Captain Gaines' voice.

Glancing up to see he'd landed only a few inches away from a crouching Marine, Bowman watched as a line of Marines along the tree line opened up on the Centurions perched at the top of the slope they'd just come down.

As the tracers ripped back up along the incline, the Centurions at the top began recoiling from the impacts, the dull clink of the hits smacking into them followed moments later by the Centurions collapsing, either backwards or tumbling forward down the hillside.

When no more appeared, Gaines popped up to her feet and began flagging everyone deeper into the forest.

"Let's move!" she called.

The Marines suddenly rose up en masse and quickly fell into a line, rushing off through the stifling darkness with a speed and dexterity that almost belied the fact that barely anything could be seen in the waning darkness.

"You waiting for a fraking invitation!" shouted Gaines as she rushed up to Bowman, Marius and Lenore. "Get going!"

"Nice to see you too, Captain," muttered Marius as he leapt up to his feet and raced off behind the line of Marines.

With Lenore and Bowman on their feet and moving, Gaines quickly fell into line at the rear of the formation, but soon found herself closing on the three exhausted Marines.

"Why can't I run this fast during a PFT?" gasped Bowman as he jumped, stumbled slightly when his foot clipped a low stump, but recovered and continued ahead.

"No Cylons on a PFT," wheezed Lenore.

Bowman was almost shocked, just about tripping again when he glanced over at her momentarily; had she actually made a joke?

"Shut up and run!" snapped Gaines as she began to slip past the two trailing Marines.

After several more moments of sprinting, the trailing Marines exploded out into a large open area. Pausing, gasping, Bowman looked around and realized he recognized the area…

It was the graveyard his patrol had found before…

As Gaines came to a rest somewhere near the center of the field beside her wireless operator, Bowman, Lenore and Marius looked around and barely made out the outlines of the surviving Marines kneeling in a hasty perimeter around the edge of the field.

Overwhelmed, his heart racing in his chest, his temples throbbing from the sensation of his pounding pulse, Bowman dropped down to his knees and gulped in several deep breaths, trying to regain some measure of control over his breathing.

"What now, Captain?" asked Marius, amazingly still on his feet, as he stepped over to Gaines.

"Depends," sighed Gaines as she pulled the map back out of her cargo pocket. "Find me that path you told me about."

Taking the map from her, Marius held it up a little to catch the hint of light beginning to creep over the horizon.

"We sure everyone made it out of there?" sighed Bowman as he sidled his way over.

"It'd be my guess," muttered Marius as he dropped the map down just enough to glance over at Bowman. "If anyone was left behind, we'd have heard the Cylons executing them by now."

"That's reassuring," said Gaines as she glanced around the hasty perimeter.

Although she didn't yet have a firm count, just by looking around, she may have lost as many as a fourth of her people.

Taking a deep breath, she began shaking her head as she slowly turned to Bowman and Lenore.

"We'd have lost a lot more if you hadn't put down that suppressive fire," said Gaines evenly as she looked over at Bowman and Lenore. "Good job."

"It was Marius' idea, Captain," replied Bowman as he motioned over at the old Marine.

"All part of the service," muttered Marius evenly as he continued to look over the map. "Now, we need to…"

The crack of rounds ripping through the air sent Gaines, Lenore, Bowman, Marius, even Lance Corporal Vallero, his attention curiously locked on the wireless set cradled in his arms, scrambling to the ground.

Almost immediately, the Marines along the North side of the clearing began returning fire, even though they didn't necessarily see where the Cylons were.

"This is getting really annoying," groaned Bowman as he tried to peer out through the tall grass.

Dropping his head down as a volley of rounds shredded the blades of grass around him, Bowman cradled his weapon across his arms and began low crawling towards the area where the fire was presumably coming from.

Even as he crawled forward, a thunderous echo of gunfire echoed out overhead as Bowman glanced up to see, unbelievably, Marius _walking_ off through the grass, Vera in his shoulder, spouting rounds back into the darkness ahead.

As he paused to swap out an empty magazine, Marius looked around at the Marines nearby, Bowman included.

"What the frak are you all doing hiding on the ground!" he shouted as he motioned for them to stand up.

"They're doing exactly what they've been ordered to do!" shouted Gaines as she poked her head up. "Now _you_ do what I ordered and get us into that ravine and out of this clearing."

Scoffing, Marius turned back towards the light growing on the horizon.

"You've already done the impossible, you made it to sunrise, what more could you ask for?" he shouted as he glanced around at the hesitant faces around him.

"Marius, get the frak down!" called Bowman.

Scoffing once more, Marius snapped Vera back into his shoulder and fired off a thunderous burst, even as a hail of rounds began ripping through the air around him.

"Come on!" he implored between bursts.

"Marius, that's an _order_!" shouted Gaines. "Get us to that ravine!"

"How far do you plan to run, Captain?" shouted Marius as he turned and stepped towards her.

Even before Gaines could answer, new gunfire erupted out through the air, this time from the South, then from the East, and finally the West.

"Frak, they're all around us!" snapped Gaines as she scrambled across the ground towards Marius.

Gaines let out a low curse under her breath; she managed to lead her Marines right into a pocket, an ambush that now cut off all escape.

"Perfect, if they're all around us then no matter which direction we fire, we'll hit one of the sons-a-bitches," grinned Marius as he began sporadically firing every which way.

Shaking her head in disbelief, Gaines watched Marius' spectacle.

Standing tall in the clearing amid a hail of crisscrossing gunfire as he was, the fact that he hadn't been hit was nothing short of a miracle. It might even have been inspiring had they not been caught in the middle of a Cylon ambush.

"I think Marius has finally lost it, Captain," shouted Bowman as he crawled up to Gaines. "Don't suppose you have a plan B?"

"Marius leading us out of here _was_ plan B," sighed Gaines as she picked up the map Marius had dropped. "Fraking Cylons have cut off our escape route. Right into a frakin' ambush…"

"We make a break in any direction we'll be running headlong into Cylon guns," said Lenore as she joined Bowman and Gaines.

Just then, a round snapped through the grass, and then through Bowman's sleeve. For a moment, he sat looking at the new hole, then felt a searing burning, slapping his hand down on his bicep.

"You hit?" snapped Lenore as she scrambled a few inches closer.

"Save it, it's just a flesh wound," groaned Bowman as he gritted his teeth against the pain. "I think it passed straight through the meat."

"Here," said Gaines as she tossed a field dressing to Bowman.

As Bowman ripped open the plastic packaging with his teeth and began applying the dressing, Gaines looked back over at Marius, amazingly, still on his feet firing bursts off into the surrounding tree line.

By the gods…was the son-of-a-bitch actually laughing?

"You're right, Marius has lost it," said Gaines evenly.

"If he ever…," began Bowman, one end of the bandages gauze strip gripped in his teeth, letting out a grunt as he finished tying off the dressing. "…still had it."

"Well, I'm open to suggestions," sighed Gaines as she tossed the map to Bowman.

"A massed thrust towards the ravine," offered Lenore evenly, crawling over beside Bowman. "If we hit one section of their line, we might be able to make a break-through."

"Right," sighed Gaines, a half moment before ducking her head down a little more from a round cracking the air above her.

Shaking her head a little, Gaines flipped over onto her back. Taking in a deep breath, Gaines looked up at the sky, the deep blue darkness of night beginning to give way to the light blues and oranges of the rising sun.

"Pass the word!" she shouted as loud as she could. "Prepare to move on my order!"

As her voice echoed out around and was passed along from Marine to Marine, Gaines flipped back over onto her belly.

"Okay, now to actually get out of here," she sighed.

"Well, Captain, the only thing we can do here is die," muttered Bowman as a round snapped through the foliage beside him.

Looking back up, Bowman gently shook his head as he watched Marius continue his ambling movements amid a hail of fire.

"How do the Cylons keep _missing_ him?" snapped Lenore, shaking her head in utter disbelief.

"Is everyone ready to move?" shouted Gaines, quickly eliciting several calls from around the clearing.

They were ready to move, at least, as ready as they would ever be. Popping up to one knee, Gaines opened her mouth in preparation to give the order to charge towards the South, towards the cluster of however many Cylons were blocking their escape route to the ravine.

Even before she completed taking in a breath, a round, then another and then a third ripped through Marius, tossing the old Marine back quite literally into Gaines' arms.

"Frak!" burst Bowman as he scrambled over.

"Medic!" shouted Gaines as she gently lowered the twitching Marius to the ground.

Sputtering, growling, coughing on the blood that had begun gurgling up in his throat, Marius thrashed around, his feet kicking, his eyes darting about wildly, in agony, in surprise.

"Gods damn it, get me a medic over here!" shouted Gaines again as she, Bowman and Lenore all pressed down on the gaping holes ripped through the old Marine's chest.

His hand covered in his own blood, Marius reached out past them with his hand, stretching his fingers. Following the old Marine's fingers, Bowman looked up and realized what it was Marius was reaching for; in the early morning light, there it was, the grave marker, the dog tags, Marius' secret; the _real_ Vera.

As she too followed his gaze, Gaines also saw the grave, saw the tags, and for perhaps the first time truly _understood_.

As his bloody hand brushed across the face of the gravestone, across the etched name Vera, Marius smiled weakly.

"I'm sorry…" he whispered, the blood draining from his face.

Whether he was speaking to them, or to his long-lost Vera, no one could be sure.

Bowman, though, thought it was to Vera.

His hand beginning to shake, his bloody fingerprints on the gravestone, Marius grabbed hold of his dangling dog tags, yanked them free of their perch, then looked up at Gaines.

Snatching up her hands in his, Marius clasped the Captain's hands down around the old tags.

"Don't…" he began, coughing painfully on the blood in his throat.

As the cough faded, he looked up at Gaines, gasping, his eyes filled with even greater urgency.

"_Don't_…"

Marius fought to speak, to hold on, the agony in his face mixed with anger. But to no avail…

With one last growling, gurgling exhale, Marius quickly faded away, his clenched body going limp, his hands falling away from Gaines'. His eyes staring up, unseeing, Kieran Marius' bloody form lay still over the grave of his long-lost wife and unborn child.

Staring back down, Bowman and Gaines felt the loss, felt it far worse than either of them might have ever suspected they would. So overcome were they, neither of them was much aware of the continued echo of gunfire still thundering around clearing.

Slowly opening her blood-covered hands, Gaines looked down at the dog tags Marius had passed to her, for her part, desperate to understand what he'd tried to say.

"Everyone is waiting to move, Captain!" shouted Lenore as she reached over and gently shook Gaines' shoulder.

Looking back over at Lenore, Gaines slowly closed her hand around the dog tags and felt a fire within her begin to grow.

"Right," she growled.

Reaching over, Gaines took hold of Marius's old rifle, the rifle he'd named Vera, checked the chamber, snatched the couple of magazines still sitting in Marius' gear, and then stood up.

With the sun now finally peering up above the horizon, there was just enough light for Gaines to see the outline of the Cylons in the trees ahead. Raising Vera to her shoulder, Gaines fired off a burst, felt the weapon kick, felt her blood surge, her rage burn. The fire within her, the fury she felt, the kick of Vera against her shoulder, the Captain let out a harsh, primal scream as the rounds ripped through a couple of the figures. Breathing heavily, angrily, Gaines paused, dropping the weapon down from her shoulder as she quickly looked around at her Marines.

Their attention was on her, the look in their eyes clear, questioning, asking for an answer; what do we do?

Glancing back down at the body of Marius at her feet, at the grave, at the dog tags in her hand, Gaines felt certain that she knew what to do.

"Marines!" she began, her voice booming as she looked back out into their questioning eyes.

And then, drawing a deep breath, Gaines raised Vera back to her shoulder, her voice, filled with visceral wrath, echoing out menacingly as she cried just one word.

"_Charge!_"

Driven, spurred by the sheer primal ferocity in Gaines' voice, Bowman and Lenore jumped up, swinging their rifles up into their shoulders as they rushed forward beside Gaines.

The ravine they'd intended to escape into was to the South…

But Captain Jordan Gaines, her soul churning with a pent up fury and enraged frustration compounded by so death and loss over these last several days, was charging straight North…

Straight back at the enemy, straight back towards Serenity…

All around the clearing, the Marines, tired, scared, exasperated, saw Gaines, Bowman and Lenore rush forward, heard the infuriated imperative in Gaines' order, and each in turn popped up and rushed off to the North beside her…

Falling into a narrow front, by instinct, by training, by the primal fire that had been touched off in their own hearts, the Marines surged forward abreast of Gaines…

Almost instantly, the Cylons to their front popped out and stepped up their rates of fire…

A few Marines went down, but the line, a roiling, angry mass of howling, firing Marines continued forward…

Two Marines with MGL's snapped the weapons up to the ready, quickly popping off a couple grenades, adding to the withering, crisscrossing fire raking across the Centurions, tearing them to shreds. Twitching, the Cylons collapsed into heaps of twisted metal, the Marines vaulting over them as they continued to surge back up the hill, back towards Serenity…

"Come on you sons-a-bitches, let's take this fraking hill!" shouted Bowman as the Marines began pushing back up the base of the slope.

Unbelievably, for all the force the Centurions had thrown into the mix to dislodge the Marines from the township of Serenity, there now seemed to be little more than a token force arrayed against the Marines, themselves a roiling mass of naked fury lying at the border between terror and madness, as they thrust back…

"Come on you apes!" shouted Lenore as she motioned everyone forward between bursts. "Do you want to live forever?"

Lenore, Gaines and Bowman remained at the center of the charge, as if pulling the rest of the line Marines back up the slope by sheer force of enraged will, the wall of racing riflemen leaping, vaulting, firing their way forward, mercilessly dropping the few Cylons hapless enough to be in their way…

Unbelievably, in the face of such naked human rage, some of the Centurions actually turned and ran; Cylon Centurions in retreat…

Seeming to burn with collective wrath of their entire extinguished civilization, exhausted of all but that righteous searing fire, the Marines crested the ridge, leaping back across the abandoned positions at the top of the slope, charging forward through the alleys, back out across the courtyard…

The Centurions continued to fall back, firing back behind them to no avail, as the Marines surged across them, tearing them apart as they bounded forward, two-by-twos, by teams of four, covering, firing, rushing…

The dull clank of the Centurions dropping onto the cobblestone courtyard echoed out amid the thundering gunfire and guttural cries of the Marines surging back across the courtyard they'd only recently abandoned, a reversal of roles so profound the Cylons seemed stunned, crippled into inaction.

"We've got'em on the run!" shouted a Marine somewhere along the surging line.

Driven by momentum, by adrenaline, by an animalistic instinct for vengeance, the Marines poured into the North alleyways, back towards the line where the harrowing battle had begun…

In the forefront, Gaines continued her charge forward, exhausted yet emboldened, her heart pounding in her chest, she burst through the alley way back out along the North trench line, the bodies of the Marines lost when the Centurions first dislodged them still littering the area; hallowed ground consecrated by Colonial blood now retaken…

As they reached the trench, the rising sun shining bright on the horizon, the line of Marines dropped into the defensive line. But as Captain Jordan Gaines looked down the slope once more, she stopped, her heart throbbing in her chest, her skin growing deathly cold…

…as she looked down directly into the glowing eyes of dozens, _tens_ of dozens, of Centurions in a long line at the bottom of the slope.

With her Marines coming to a shocked pause beside her, they all looked down in horror, outnumbered, physically spent, psychologically exhausted. They'd retaken the township of Serenity, for even the briefest of moments.

But now they were all about to die.

As the Centurions below took a tentative step forward, their forearm-mounted weapons locking into place, Gaines weakly motioned her Marines to prepare for the inevitable.

"Marines," she began, her hoarse, tired voice still echoing out in the early morning air. "It has been an honor; prepare to defend yourselves!"

Surprisingly, in spite of everything, the Marines, tired, shot up, ragged, still let out a loud, defiant battle cry as they aimed their weapons in one last time…

Rifles, some sidearms, hands shaking, curses muttered with utterly worn-out breaths, the Marines aimed down at their enemy.

"Copy that!" burst Lance Corporal Vallero.

Looking over, Gaines hadn't even realized that the wireless operator had slipped down into the trench beside her. Now as he dropped the handset he'd been holding to his ear, Vallero pulled a single smoke grenade from his gear, pulled the pin, held it as it popped, then tossed it skittering down the slope as a long stream of red smoke began wafting through the air in front of the line of doomed Marines.

Tired, perplexed, Gaines couldn't begin to form a coherent word as she watched the man snatch the handset for the wireless set strapped to back, lifting it instantly back up to his ear.

"Lateral run along base of the slope marked with red smoke!" he shouted.

"What the frak are you..?" choked out Gaines…

…just as the bottom of the slope suddenly exploded in a hail of truly punishing gunfire…

Not from the Cylons, not even from her Marines, but from something else entirely…

Startled, Gaines fell back away from the parapet as the rounds continued to tear up the line of Centurions below.

…as the sound of a low rumble began to fill the air.

"_Vipers_!" shouted Bowman as he pointed almost directly up into the sky.

Glancing up, Gaines felt her heart rise so far into her throat she felt as though it would pop out.

Diving almost straight down, haloed by the rising sun from the morning sky, six Vipers flew in, their guns blazing, missiles rocketing forward, ripping the line of Centurions apart. All along the line, the Marines let out an exalted cheer.

* * *

"Vipers?" burst the Three in unrestrained surprise as she watched the Colonial fighters rain destruction down on the Centurions that had been poised to wipe out the humans. "Where the _frak_ did those Vipers come from?"

"Get some Raiders here now!" snapped Six as she looked back over at one of the Centurions with them on the hilltop.

As the sound of the Marines cheering echoed out across Serenity Valley, the Vipers pulled out of their dive, streaking by overhead triumphantly, leaving the treeline a smoldering wreck.

All the while, one question hung over the stunned Cylons as they watched the smoke rise from the base of the slope where their Centurions had been ripped to shreds; with six Baseships and hundreds of Raiders directly overhead in orbit, how did Colonial Vipers find their way to Serenity?

* * *

**Thirty-Three Minutes Ago  
****In orbit of Sagittaron Colony  
**

"Jump complete," said Mike Rivers evenly as he gently licked his dry lips.

"Copy that," replied Captain Jack Foster as he looked out past the cockpit windows of Pan-Colonial Lines Colonial-Heavy Two-Zero-Seven. "Check our position."

"Right where we should be," replied Rivers with a grin. "Low orbit of Sagittaron Colony, perfect glide path towards Serenity Valley."

As Foster gently pushed the nose of the passenger liner down, the sight of Sagittaron slowly came into view.

"I'll be damned," muttered Rivers. "Right on the button."

"Now for the fun part," muttered Foster as he reached over and toggled the switch for the short-wave wireless. "Longrifle this is Fat Man; in the glide path, five-by-five; entering atmo in one mike; time to stop hitchhiking."

"_Copy that Fat Man_."

* * *

Strapped firmly within the cockpit of the Mark Six Viper, Major Thomas Culver, call sign Longrifle, reached over and began switching the ship's systems back on.

Glancing up past the canopy, it wasn't hard for Culver to see the once lush blue-green world of Sagittaron, now a sickly gray from all the fallout blown into the upper atmosphere. Harsh as it was, it was that fallout upon which they were now counting; jumping the passenger liner into the extreme upper atmosphere, the radiation from all the particles was now effectively masking them from DRADIS detection.

Shaking his head slightly, Culver had to admit what Commander Sean Kelso had come up with was one hell-of-a crazy idea, but it seemed to be working.

"Longrifle to Halo flight, you heard the man," said Culver evenly as he looked out to his left and to his right. "Time to stop piggybacking and go to work."

Spaced out along the outer hull of the passenger liner, five other Mark Six Vipers clung to the surface of the ship, locked firmly in place through the FTL jump by a hasty upgrade to the magnetic locks on the Viper landing skids.

With the jump complete and Sagittaron below, the Vipers released their magnetic hold on the passenger liner's hull and pulled into tight formation around the ship as it began its descent from orbit towards Serenity Valley below.

* * *

**Serenity Valley  
****Sagittaron Colony  
**

As the Vipers streaked by victoriously overhead, the Centurions at the base of the slope lay utterly destroyed by the punishing strafing run.

"Copy that!" snapped Vallero once more as he glanced over at the elated, if baffled, Captain Gaines. "We need to get ready to move, Captain!"

Before Gaines could even ask Vallero what the hell was going on, a sudden roar overhead and rush of wind passed along the trench line. As the gust abated, Gaines looked up and was astonished to see a _civilian_ passenger liner rushing by overhead at low level, the ship pulling a hard one-hundred-eighty-degree turn before settling down into the courtyard, the pilot maneuvering the surprisingly nimble craft with the dexterity of a Raptor.

Dropping down hard onto its landing skids, the engines continued to roar at high idle as the entry ramp on the bottom of the craft dropped down.

Rushing down the ramp, a man dressed in civilian attire looked over to Gaines through the alleyway and began frantically motioning for her to board.

With the Vipers pulling another low pass around Serenity, Gaines didn't need to be told twice.

"Let's go Marines, our ride is here!" she shouted as she motioned them towards the waiting passenger liner.

Without hesitation, the Marines hopped up en masse out of the trench and began rushing full out towards the entry ramp.

"Let's go, let's go!" shouted the man at the bottom of the ramp as he ushered the racing Marines aboard.

Pausing at the bottom of the ramp, Gaines turned and watched as each of her surviving troops rushed aboard, the last being Bowman and Lenore.

"That's everyone!" she shouted as she looked over at the civilian.

Nodding, the man pressed his hand against the wireless headset over his ear.

"That's everyone, Jack!" he shouted as he began jogging up the ramp just in front of Gaines. "Inform Halo flight we're getting the hell out of here!"

As she followed the civilian up a couple small flights of stairs, Gaines passed by the huddled mass of Marines who'd dropped into seats, onto the deck, damned near anywhere they could, and continued to follow the man forward as the ship rocked, the engines whining, pulling the craft inexorably into the air against the planet's gravity.

As the two of them practically exploded through the cockpit door, Gaines watched as the civilian dropped back down into the co-pilot's seat, the sight of the sun rising fully over the distant Hera mountain range shining brightly in through the cockpit window.

"Now what?" gasped Gaines as she stood between the two pilot seats.

"Now you should take a seat," replied the man who'd ushered her people aboard as he pointed over at an empty seat near the rear of the compartment.

"This ride's probably going to be bumpy from here," interjected the pilot as he slammed the throttles open and yanked back hard on the control yoke.

All around, the ship continued to shake as the two pilots pushed the ship to its design limits.

"We're at ten-thousand and rising," called the co-pilot.

"And Halo flight?"

"Direct astern, holding formation."

Reaching over to the panel in front of him, the pilot toggled a switch for the shortwave wireless.

"Eagle Eye, this is Fat Man; Code Green," said the pilot as he fought to keep the ship steady as she rose through the turbulence.

* * *

"Code Green!"

The words echoed out around the CIC of the Warstar _Galactica_, slicing through the silent tension.

"Eagle-Eye reports Fat Man is go for extraction," continued Petty Officer Celia Harris, the excitement evident in her voice.

His eyes locked on DRADIS overhead, Commander Sean Kelso's lips curled in a smile.

Nestled amid the DRADIS-obscuring Acheron asteroid belt near Sagittaron, the massive Warstar had been waiting for the call, and now with the message in hand, her Commander and crew prepared for action.

"Take us in, Major Burke," said Kelso evenly as he looked across the plot table to his XO.

"Aye, sir," replied Burke evenly. "Start the clock, Lieutenant Cortez!"

Reaching down, she snatched up the handset on her side of the plot table as Cortez starting calling off the checklist for an FTL jump.

"All hands, prepare for Combat Jump; all flight decks make ready for emergency retrieval of aircraft; standby damage and medical teams."

"FTL systems are sync'd and ready, Commander," snapped Cortez.

"Jump!"

* * *

With the ship quaking from heavy turbulence, the passenger liner continuing its rapid ascent through the upper atmosphere, Captain Jordan Gaines floundered a bit as she attempted to tighten down the straps that were just barely holding her in the seat.

As the ship finally pushed out past the upper atmosphere, the heartrendingly beautiful image of Sagittaron's distant horizon shone brightly against the sun.

But even as she felt her heart filling with near elation over their escape, Gaines caught a glimmer against the dark backdrop of space, _several_ glimmers.

"We've got company!" burst the co-pilot as the DRADIS panel at the center of the console cleared enough to show dozens, tens of dozens, _hundreds_ of contacts rushing in towards them.

"Fat Man to Halo flight…" began the pilot, the tension evident in his voice as he continued to coax the passenger liner higher and higher into orbit.

"_Affirmative, Fat Man, we see them_," came a voice from the overhead speaker, presumably the flight leader of the escorting Vipers as the fighters streaked out ahead of the passenger liner. "_Looks like four Baseships, and about twenty squadrons of Raiders closing in_."

"Don't suppose you have enough ammo aboard?" asked the pilot evenly.

"_Let's hope we don't have to find out_," replied the voice over the speakers.

Suddenly, out of nothingness, a bright flash of light flared in front of them. Blinking her eyes against the spots the flash left in her vision, Gaines looked out in awe at what was unmistakably a Colonial warship hovering directly in front of them.

The _biggest_ damned Colonial warship she had ever seen…

"_This is_ Galactica_-Actual_," crackled another voice over the speakers. "_All craft are clear for combat landings_."

"Fat Man, copies," replied the pilot as he tightened his grip around the liner's control stick.

"Maybe a bad time to ask, Jack, but are you sure we can _do_ a 'combat landing' in this crate?" asked the co-pilot.

Glancing over, the pilot simply shrugged.

"That's not very reassuring."

Suddenly, an alarm from the DRADIS console began beeping.

"Oh, frak!" snapped the co-pilot as he too gripped onto the control stick. "They're launching nukes!"

* * *

"Thirty, correction, _forty_ warheads inbound, Commander," called Lieutenant Cortez, his voice almost frantic.

"Time to impact?"

"Fifty-five seconds."

"Time till our birds are on deck?"

"Eagle-Eye Raptor is already aboard, Vipers are lining up for the Port pod, twenty seconds out," replied Burke evenly as she reflexively gripped the plot table.

"What about the Fat Man?"

"Thirty-five seconds from the Starboard pod, sir," snapped Burke, her gaze still locked on the missiles streaking in towards _Galactica_.

"FTL ready?"

"Yes, Commander," replied Cortez as he too tightened his grip on his console.

"This is going to be close," muttered Kelso evenly as he gripped tightly onto the plot table. "Standby to jump on my order!"

As he watched the Vipers and passenger liner streak in towards the flight pods, the DRADIS overhead continued to shriek its warning about the closing nukes.

Off to one side of the CIC, Petty Officer Celia Harris began calling out the tail numbers of each of the Vipers as they began sliding to a stop on the Port hangar deck.

All the while, Kelso's gaze remained on the icon for Colonial-Heavy Two-Zero-Seven, callsign Fat Man, edging closer and closer.

* * *

As the sight of the massive flight deck filled the view beyond the cockpit, Captain Jack Foster reached over and toggled a switch, activating the emergency alarm within the passenger compartment.

"This is the Captain; everyone brace for impact," he said evenly, his jaw muscles visibly tense as he steered the ship towards the flight deck.

Landing hard, the entire ship trembled, groaning under the strain as the sound of metal scraping upon metal screeched throughout the hull, through the air, the liner canting slightly to the side as it continued to skid along the length of the flight deck.

"Oh, lords," whispered Gaines, bracing herself in the seat as she saw the gaping maw of the far end of the flight deck looming closer.

* * *

His knuckles literally white from his grip on the plot table, Commander Sean Kelso's eyes were locked on the flight deck camera as Colonial-Heavy Two-Zero-Seven careened along the flight deck.

"Come on," he seethed.

"Twenty seconds till missile impact!" called Lieutenant Cortez.

"Commander?" prodded Burke as the missiles streaked in menacingly.

"Hold," muttered Kelso, his eyes still locked on the careening passenger liner.

"Fifteen seconds to missile impact!"

"_Hold!_"

At last, the ship came to a stop, cocked slightly to one side, threatening to tip over for a moment before finally settling down firmly within the Starboard flight pod.

"They're down!" snapped Burke as her eyes snapped back towards Kelso.

"Jump!"

His eyes locked on DRADIS, Kelso watched as the enemy missiles streaking in, only moments from impact, disappeared.

The Baseships, the Raiders, Sagittaron itself, _all_ disappeared in an instant.

So charged with adrenaline, his body, his perceptions, hadn't even registered the jump itself, but in an instant, the DRADIS screen was clear.

"Jump complete, Commander," exhaled Cortez as he practically flopped back into his seat.

For a moment, Kelso watched DRADIS, waiting.

For several moments, silence hung over the CIC.

Slowly, Kelso looked over to the visibly expectant Major Burke.

Reaching down, Kelso lifted up the handset from the plot table.

"Get me the flight deck," he said simply as he raised it to his ear.

"_Flight deck; Chief Copeland_."

"Status?"

"_My people will be hammering the dents out of the flight deck for weeks, but all birds made it back to the barn, Commander._"

"Thank you, Chief."

With that, Kelso slowly placed the handset back into place.

Letting out a long breath, Kelso looked around at his CIC crew.

"Good work, people; mission accomplished."

With that, CIC exploded with cheers as Major Burke reached over and clasped onto Commander Sean Kelso's hand.

* * *

His fingers still clasped in a near death grip around the control yoke, Captain Jack Foster fought to get his breathing back under control.

"I really hope we never have to do _that_ again," gulped his co-pilot, Mike Rivers as he too released his own grip on his control yoke. "Ever, ever, _ever_ again…"

Looking over at Rivers, then back at the visibly shaken Captain Gaines, Foster's lips spread into the faintest of grins as he reached over to the console in front of him and toggled the switch for the passenger cabin's intercom.

* * *

Slowly, Corporal Dwayne Bowman reached over and helped lift Corporal Sera Lenore off the floor into one of the plush passenger seats.

"Thanks," she sighed as she dropped down into the seat.

Overhead, the intercom crackled to life.

"_This is your Captain speaking_," began the audibly tired voice overhead, drawing the attention of all the Marines immediately. "_I'd like to announce our arrival aboard the Colonial Warstar _Galactica_ and to thank you for flying Pan-Colonial today. In the future, whenever planning your travel needs, I'll hope you'll consider flying Pan-Colonial passenger lines again. Thank you._"

There was such a deadpan tone to the man's voice, Bowman wasn't quite sure whether it was a real person or just a recording, and was just as unsure how to react at first, but soon began to chuckle.

"Think this trip will count towards our frequent-flier miles?" muttered a Marine from the back of the cabin.

With that, almost everyone in the passenger compartment broke out into laughter.

A smile on his lips, Bowman glanced over at Lenore. Lenore was simply sitting there, staring at him intently. Finally, after a moment, she stood up.

"Come with me, Corporal Bowman," she said evenly.

With Bowman following close behind, curious but silent, Lenore began making her way along the center aisle towards the rear of the craft, pausing next to one of the civilian medics who'd survived with them. The man's eyes were filled with tears, but he nevertheless looked up, noting Lenore's approach.

"I need a fresh field dressing," she said evenly.

Confused for a moment, the man nevertheless reached down into the gear he was carrying and retrieved the requested bandage and handed it to Lenore.

"Follow me, Corporal Bowman," she said evenly.

Making her way towards the rear of the compartment, Lenore led Bowman past the throngs of chatting Marines. While a few glanced up, most paid them little attention as Bowman and Lenore passed through to the more deserted rear passenger compartment.

Coming to a stop near one of the restrooms at the far end of the compartment, Lenore turned back to Bowman and began stripped off her gear, dropping it into one of the empty seats, motioning for Bowman to do likewise.

"We need to change that dressing on your arm," she said flatly as Bowman looked over at her questioningly.

Likewise stripping his gear off, he continued to eye Lenore somewhat curiously as he too set it down on one of the seats. As Bowman set his helmet down onto the pile with the rest of his combat gear, Lenore reached over and opened the small doorway into one of the restrooms and motioned him inside. Still curious, he nevertheless stepped inside. Cramped as it was, Bowman was surprised when Lenore slid into the space beside him…

And shut the door…

As she slid the locking latch into place, Lenore looked up at Bowman and dropped the dressing down onto the small sink.

"What's this…" began Bowman, stopping mid-sentence as Lenore reached up and placed her fingers over his lips.

"Don't talk," she whispered, gently shaking her head.

With that, Lenore reached up, pulled out the pins holding her hair up, and let her long brunette hair fall down around her shoulders. His heart rate once again beginning to climb, Bowman watched her gently shake her head again, further unfurling the long strands of silken hair. In the dull glow of the restroom light, Lenore then pressed herself against Bowman as she looked intently into his eyes.

"Just shut up and kiss me, Bowman," she said silkily, urgently.

"Aye, Corporal," he whispered softly as he brought his lips to hers.


	9. Part 8 - Favor the Bold

**Warstar _Galactica  
_****Near Leto's Twins  
**

"Time and position check, Lieutenant Cortez?" asked Commander Sean Kelso as he stood watching the DRADIS console overhead.

"Holding position one hundred kilometers over the surface of the planetoid, Commander," replied Cortez evenly. "Time on station, one-hour and seven-minutes, sir."

"Very good," sighed Kelso as the entry hatch to CIC parted.

Glancing over, Kelso saw Chief Copeland, Jack Foster and Major Culver enter, ushering in a fourth person, a young woman in Marine combat gear covered head-to-toe in a liberal amount of dust, mud, and blood.

Turning towards them Kelso stood silent as the visibly exhausted woman stepped up, and with a slightly shaking hand, rendered a salute.

"Captain Jordan Gaines, Colonial Marine Corps, reporting, sir," she said evenly.

"At ease, Captain," replied Kelso as he returned the salute then extended his hand. "Welcome aboard the _Galactica_."

"If you don't mind my saying so, sir, it's damned good to be here," replied Gaines evenly, her voice tired, scratchy.

"You really should be down in sickbay with the rest of your Marines," began Kelso as he noted the dried smears of blood mixed in with the dirt on her uniform.

"It was my duty to get up here and report to the Senior Officer as soon as possible, sir," she replied respectfully, her hoarse voice cracking a bit.

With that, Commander Kelso glanced over at both Chief Copeland and Jack Foster, the latter of which merely shrugged. Letting out a short sigh, the Commander simply nodded his head as he looked back over at Gaines.

"How are your people, Captain?"

"Shaken, tired, things were pretty bad down there, Commander," she replied, her voice trembling a bit. "But we're alive, and that's what counts..."

Before she could say another word, Gaines suddenly began to crumble to the deck, clearly exhausted. In response, Jack Foster and Chief Copeland reached out and grabbed hold of Gaines.

"Whoa, easy there, Captain," muttered Foster as he gently helped keep her on her feet.

"Sorry, sir," she muttered weakly as she fought to keep on her feet.

"No need to apologize, Captain," smiled Kelso as he reached over and grabbed hold her on the shoulder.

Surprisingly, Gaines jumped a bit at his touch, then looked at him rather sheepishly.

"Sorry again, sir."

Looking down into her exhausted eyes, Kelso groped to think of something to say, uncertain.

"Make sure the Captain gets some quarters, Chief," began Kelso finally as he looked over at Copeland.

"Aye, sir."

"If it's all the same with you, Commander, I'd rather bunk down with my Marines," replied Gaines evenly.

Again, looking down at her exhausted expression, he nevertheless saw the clear determination in her eyes; whether he approved or not, Gaines was clearly not going to be separated from her Marines.

"Of course," replied Kelso simply. "See to your people, Captain Gaines."

Half smiling, Gaines gave Kelso another smart salute, turned and began making her way back towards the entry hatch on unsteady feet, Chief Copeland at her side. As she reached the hatch, Gaines stopped and looked back over at the Commander.

"Thank you for coming back for us, sir," she said evenly.

"All part of the service, Captain."

As he said that to her, Gaines looked back over at Kelso with a hesitant yet faintly somber expression.

"Did I say something wrong, Captain?" asked Kelso as he noted the sober look on her face.

"No, sir, not at all…" stammered Gaines for a moment, sucking in a breath to steady herself. "…it's just, I used to know someone who had a habit of saying that, Commander."

Nodding his head slightly, Kelso smiled over at Gaines as the Marine and Chief Copeland turned and disappeared out into the corridor.

"She seems pretty shaken up," noted Burke as Kelso stepped back up to the plot table.

"She has every reason to be," muttered Jack Foster evenly as he and Culver likewise stepped up to the plot table. "From the sound of it she lost nearly a third of her people down there."

"They'll be plenty of time to deal with that later," stated Kelso evenly as he cast his eyes back up at DRADIS. "Right now we need to be ready for the blowback from our little extraction mission."

"You think the Cylons will be able to trace our location?" asked Burke as she looked across the table at him.

"It's impossible to trace an FTL jump," muttered Major Culver as he gently rubbed a knot from his neck.

"_Theoretically_ impossible," corrected Kelso evenly. "In any event, direct trace or not, the Cylons aren't stupid."

"What do you mean?" asked Foster.

"Don't forget, we destroyed the two Baseships they sent out here," sighed Kelso as he continued to watch DRADIS. "Now with our little incursion and two of their Basestars likely overdue for a check-in, won't take the Cylons long to put two and two together."

"Is that why we didn't jump directly back to the entry corridor?" asked Culver as he leaned in over the table.

"Precisely," replied Kelso evenly. "This planetoid is more-or-less a DRADIS shadow, the only place outside the nebula itself where someone can jump in unobserved."

"The upside is we can sit here hidden to see if anyone follows," continued Major Burke as her eyes continued to scan over the DRADIS screen overhead. "Downside is the Cylons could just as easily know about this planetoid and jump in behind it as well."

His eyes locked on the DRADIS display, Kelso continued warily searching for contacts.

For now, all that was present besides the _Galactica_ was the rogue planetoid.

Devoid of atmosphere, nothing more than a dead rock in space, the planetoid had likely been knocked from a closer orbit when Leto's Twins collapsed into pulsars untold millennia ago. Recaptured by the gravity of the twin pulsars, the planetoid now drifted along in a distant orbit that would bring it back around to its present position in a little over three thousand years.

Commander Sean Kelso didn't plan to wait that long.

"We'll hold position here for another hour before heading for the corridor…" began Kelso, his voice ending abruptly when the DRADIS overhead let out an alarm.

"Contact!" shouted Cortez. "Correction; _four_ contacts, Commander, signature match for Cylon Baseships."

"Action Stations; Action Stations; all hands, Action Stations," snapped Burke as she snatched the handset up from the plot table.

"I'll head back down to the flight deck and make sure our birds are ready to fly," said Major Culver as he turned and quickly jogged his way out of CIC.

"Is your ship secured on the Starboard flight deck, Mr. Foster?" asked Burke as she glanced over at the civilian liner pilot.

"We straightened her out and engaged the mag locks, she should be stable," replied Foster evenly.

"Good, cause things could get bumpy," muttered Kelso as he watched the four Baseships closing in on DRADIS.

"Damn, it's almost like they were expecting us to be here," muttered Burke as she noted the deployment pattern of the Baseships. "They've positioned themselves at equidistant positions around the planetoid."

"Whether they were expecting us to be out here or not, they're still in a perfect position to close in on us from four sides at once," muttered Kelso. "Good thing I don't intend to give them the opportunity to shoot at my ship just yet."

Taking a deep breath, Kelso looked across to Major Burke.

"Take us to the corridor, Major."

"Aye, Commander," replied Burke as she straightened up. "Helm, nose down zero-nine-zero degrees, engines to flank speed."

"Nose down zero-nine-zero, aye," snapped Petty Officer Chapman as he began putting the changes into the ship's helm. "Main engines ahead to flank speed."

Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, Kelso felt the massive Warstar begin to move around him as he watched the Baseships on DRADIS.

"Think we'll be able to outrun them?" asked Foster evenly.

"Hard to say," sighed Kelso. "We haven't really had an opportunity to see one of their new Basestars at a good clip."

"They're still pretty far out there," offered Burke evenly. "We might be able to open up the distance even more before they have a chance to close to weapons range."

"What's to stop them from just jumping in closer?" asked Foster.

"Nothing," replied Kelso flatly. "Either way, we'll find out what they plan to do soon."

As her engines built up power and pushed the massive warship out of position near the planetoid, Kelso began gently drumming his fingers on the tabletop.

"New contacts, they're launching Raiders," snapped Lieutenant Cortez.

His eyes still glued to DRADIS, Commander Sean Kelso watched as the four Baseships blossomed with new contacts.

"How many Raiders, Mr. Cortez?" snapped Burke.

"Three hundred plus, Major."

"Don't suppose it's possible to outrun _them_?" asked Foster.

"That we know is a definite 'no'," replied Kelso as he let out a long sigh. "Time till we reach the corridor?"

"At current speed, we should enter the corridor in fifteen minutes, Commander," called Lieutenant Cortez.

"Those Raiders will be on us in less than five," muttered Burke as she looked across to Kelso. "We should prepare to launch our Vipers."

"Not yet, Major," replied Kelso evenly, his eyes never leaving DRADIS. "We launch our fighters, they'll have to turn back along our current path in order to engage those Raiders; we'd have to slow or come about eventually in order to retrieve them, allowing those Baseships the opportunity to close distance and engage us."

"But at least they might be able to slow the Raiders' advance, Commander," offered Foster.

Looking back up at DRADIS, Kelso let out a long sigh.

"No, our best bet is to try and reach the corridor," continued Kelso as he leaned in over the plot table a bit. "We make it in there, all the interference from the pulsars will even the odds."

"But what about those Raiders, sir?" asked Burke urgently as she cast her eyes back up at the myriad of closing contacts.

"Simple, Major," replied Kelso flatly. "Inertia."

With Major Burke and Jack Foster both casting a quizzical glance over at him, Kelso reached down and snatched up the handset and toggled the switch for the Engineering deck.

"_Tyree, here_," barked the voice on the other end of the line.

"Colin, I have an unorthodox idea I need you to be ready for," said Kelso evenly.

"_You're about to get my brand new ship shot at again, aren't you_?"

"You can bill the Cylons for damage later if we survive," replied Kelso simply. "Here's what I need; on my order I want you to do an emergency shut down on the mains."

Her eyes growing wide, Burke stared across the plot table at the Commander.

"_Did I hear you correct, sir; shut down the mains_?"

"You heard me right, Tyree," continued Kelso. "Not a full shut down, though, I just want you to choke the tylium feeds."

For a moment, Tyree didn't say anything.

"_How long do you want me to choke the feeds? Back pressure's going to build up fast, could blow the main transfer pumps._"

"Not long, just be ready to open the feeds back up when I need you to."

"_Not that I suppose it matters much, but I've got a bad feeling about what you're asking._"

"Noted; get it done, Colin."

Reaching down, Kelso then toggled the switch once more, the One-MC overhead chiming for attention in response.

"All hands, this is CIC; prepare for extreme maneuvering; all batteries prepare for suppressive fire."

Reaching back down, Kelso once again toggled the switch back to engineering, then set the handset down on the plot table.

"Time till Raiders intercept us?"

"Two minutes, Commander," replied Burke.

Stepping quickly over to the Helm, Kelso tapped Foster on the shoulder as he passed and motioned him over as well.

"Okay, Foster, Chapman, here's what I need you to do," began Kelso as he leaned in over the Petty Officer at the Helm. "When I order Tyree to choke the feed, I need you to put _Galactica_ into a lateral spin to Starboard."

"Sir?" snapped Chapman, clearly shocked.

"A flat spin, Mister Chapman," muttered Foster, his expression somewhat dubious as he glanced over to Kelso, thoroughly at a loss of exactly what the Commander was up to.

"That's right," nodded Kelso. "I want this ship to spin a full three-sixty around her z-axis as quickly as you can; Foster, you're a pilot, you give him a hand using the thrusters to keep her on an even keel."

"You know, they usually teach pilots to _avoid_ spins like these," muttered Foster as he slipped in beside Chapman at the helm.

"Humor me," smirked Kelso as he began making his way back towards the center table.

"Raiders will be in firing range in less than a minute, Commander," stated Burke evenly as Kelso stepped back over to the plot table.

"Understood," sighed Kelso as he reached out and picked the handset back up, casting his eyes back up at DRADIS as he did so.

On the screen overhead, Kelso watched as the swarms of enemy fighters continued to charge in towards the massive Warstar.

"Okay," sighed Kelso as he reflexively gripped the table with his free hand. "Tyree, shut the tylium feeds."

"_Understood, Commander._"

"Chapman, Foster, initiate the spin."

"Copy, that."

* * *

Cast against the backdrop of endless space, a veritable wall of Raiders charged in towards the massive Colonial warship. Within moments, they'd be within weapons range and able to unleash a torrent of fire from their cannons and missiles that would obliterate the human vessel.

As they closed to within engagement range, the engines for the massive Colonial warship suddenly went out, the blazing emissions from the main engines rapidly dying out.

Were the Raiders capable of emotion, they might have become excited; their quarry was apparently no longer under its own power, carried forward only by its built-up inertia.

Then, just as quickly, the massive ship began to rotate, the myriad of thrusters around the hull, not propelling the vessel, merely causing it to spin as its inertia continued to carry it.

And had the Raiders indeed been capable of emotion, they might have felt a sudden rush of fear, for even as the large vessel spun around on its belly, the bristling cannons mounted along the ship's Starboard side swung around to bear on the closing wall of Cylon fighters.

* * *

"All batteries, commence full suppressive barrage; rake the Raider formation," snapped Kelso, holding tightly onto the plot table as _Galactica_'s weapons swung around to bear on the Raider formation.

In response, the air around CIC filled with the sound of the Warstar's weapons firing, both heavy cannons and smaller suppressive guns thundering away.

As the massive ship continued its celestial pirouette, the withering fire erupting from the cannons stitched its way across the line of advancing Raiders, ripping into their neat formations, the explosive rounds from the heavy cannons blasting holes through the wall of enemy fighters…

As the _Galactica_ continued to spin around, the Starboard cannons slipped out of line of sight with the Raiders…

Just as the main bow batteries swung around into position to continue raking the still advancing Raiders…

As the flak barrier being put out by the _Galactica_ continued to hammer away at the enemy fighters, the tiny ships continued to rush in, their numbers depleted, but nevertheless holding course…

As another full broadside from the Port weapons erupted as those emplacements swung into action…

As the full brunt of the Port weapons bore down on the ever-fewer Raiders, the swarming mass of fighters, less than half the number initially launched, suddenly veered away, racing back towards their Baseships.

* * *

"Three-six-zero degrees, Commander," announced Chapman, a small bead of sweat running down his cheek as he slowly let go his near-deathgrip on the controls.

"Halt your turn," snapped Kelso as he watched the Raiders falling back on DRADIS, lifting the handset back to his ear. "Tyree reopen the tylium feeds and get the mains back up."

"_Thank the gods_," snapped Tyree.

Hanging the handset back up, Kelso looked over at Chapman and Foster.

"Resume original course towards the corridor," sighed Kelso as he leaned in over the plot table.

"Aye, sir," sighed Chapman as he gave the briefest of handshakes to Foster. "Resuming course for the entry corridor, Commander. Mains are coming back up now, answering ahead flank speed."

"I don't seem to recall _that_ maneuver in any combat manual," sighed Burke, smiling slightly as she glanced across the plot table.

"Something to be said for improvising," replied Kelso as he returned his attention to the four Baseships on DRADIS.

"Do you have any other tricks in mind for those Basestars, Commander?" asked Foster as he stepped back up to the plot table.

"I might," replied Kelso evenly, his eyes not leaving the screen overhead. "Time till we reach the entry corridor?"

"Eight minutes, Commander," answered Lieutenant Cortez.

"Time till the Basestars are within weapons range?"

"Our spin might have spooked them a bit," began Burke evenly as she watched the screen overhead. "At their current speed, they won't reach weapons range before we enter the interference inside the corridor."

Silent, Kelso continued to watch the four Baseships, his fingers lightly tapping the tabletop.

"Major, slow our approach on the corridor," he said evenly.

"Did I hear you correctly, you want us to slow down, Commander?" asked Burke as her eyes wandered between the Baseships on DRADIS and the Commander.

"Just enough to draw them in a bit closer," replied Kelso evenly, his gaze never leaving the screen. "I want to entice them a bit, goad them into following us into the corridor."

"Aye, sir," replied Burke hesitantly a moment before issuing the order to Chapman.

His eyes locked on DRADIS, Kelso's lip curled into ever so subtle a smirk as he watched the approaching Baseships begin to close in a little faster.

"What if they don't follow into the distortion zone?" muttered Burke as she too watched the Basestars close in.

"They have us outnumbered four-to-one," replied Kelso flatly. "From their perspective, what reason do they have to stop?"

With that, quiet settled in over CIC, a nervous tension broken only by the occasional update from Lieutenant Cortez on their proximity to the corridor or the enemy's position.

As they sailed closer to the nebula perimeter, the mass of ionized radiation surrounding the twin pulsars Leto's Twins began obscuring the picture on DRADIS more and more.

"One minute to the entry corridor, Commander," called Lieutenant Cortez.

"Very well," replied Kelso as he reached down and snatched up the handset. "CIC to fire control."

"_Fire control, sir._"

"With all this hash, your people will need to aim manually," began Kelso evenly as he watched the Basestars appear and disappear intermittently on DRADIS. "But when I call for it, I want every available battery ready for a full salvo fire, understood?"

"_Affirmative, Commander._"

"Good."

With that, Kelso hung the handset back up.

"Starting down the corridor now, Commander," stated Burke as she watched the distortion waves on DRADIS. "Intermittent contact only, picture's starting to fade in this soup."

Saying nothing, Kelso continued to watch DRADIS.

When the picture cleared enough to show the Cylon Baseships themselves beginning to enter the corridor, Kelso straightened up a bit at the plot table.

"So much for finesse," muttered Jack Foster as DRADIS intermittently registered the baseships. "Must be feeling pretty confident to brave the radiation.

"Best theory suggests their neural pathways will begin to degrade in less than an hour," stated Kelso as he too continued to eye the enemy on DRADIS.

"They probably think that once they catch us, they won't be in here that long," offered Burke.

"I'll take that as a good omen," said Kelso as he gently clasped his hands behind his back, his gaze never leaving DRADIS. "Because it means they have absolutely no idea what's about to happen."

"Sir, be advised, we have reached point Alpha in the corridor," called Lieutenant Cortez.

"Helm, come to Port, zero-nine-zero degrees, engines to full stop," snapped Kelso, his eyes never leaving the screens arrayed overhead. "Major Burke, advise fire control to prepare for full salvo, manual aiming, one-to-one HE to AP."

"Aye, Commander, coming to Port, zero-nine-zero, engines to stop," replied Chapman.

Reaching down, Major Burke looked away from DRADIS for only the briefest of moments as she picked up her handset and relayed the order to fire control.

As the Warstar _Galactica_ came to a full stop in the center of the entry corridor, slowly turning to present a full broadside to the closing Basestars, Kelso couldn't help but grin a bit. Even though DRADIS was suffering from severe distortions generated by the pulsar wind nebula, the intermittent contact still showed the enemy closing in on the Colonial warship.

Just as he'd hoped they would.

"Harris, open Priority Channel One, scrambled," began Kelso evenly. "Transmit the following message; four in the pocket, time to play our hand."

"Aye, sir, transmitting."

As the seconds continued to tick away, the Basestars intermittently appearing and disappearing from the screen, but nevertheless still clearly closing in, DRADIS let out a low alarm as five more contacts appeared. Emerging from the heavier distortion areas surrounding the corridor, the new contacts quickly spread themselves out at the flanks of the Cylon Baseships. With everyone around CIC holding a pensive breath, Commander Sean Kelso couldn't help but feel a sense of profound satisfaction as DRADIS received a reply from an IFF interrogation on the new contacts and immediately tagged them as Colonial.

"Got 'em," grinned Burke as she watched the half-ring of Colonial vessels that now arrayed against the advancing Baseships.

Snatching up the handset on his side of the plot table, Commander Kelso toggled the switch for Fire Control.

"All batteries, action to Port side, commence full salvo fire," said Kelso as he hungrily eyed the now semi-encircled Baseships.

As the air around CIC began to reverberate with the sound of the ship's weapons opening up, Commander Kelso looked over to Communications.

"Harris, advise Colonel Runel and his group to commence fire at their discretion."

"Aye, Commander."

His eyes settling back on the screens overhead, Commander Kelso watched as nothing short of chaos seemed to erupt amid the Cylon formation. Even through the heavy interference on DRADIS, the volume of fire erupting from the surrounding Colonial warships slammed into the four Cylon Basestars. Although they clearly made an attempt to maneuver away from the ambush, boxed in as they were, their DRADIS partially blinded, it was hard for the Basestars to respond effectively within the tight confines of the corridor without crashing into one another. Almost in a panic, they began firing off volley after volley of missiles in every direction. But while Cylon missiles posed a decidedly lethal threat in open space, within the interference generated by Leto's pulsar wind nebula, the guidance systems on the missiles were less than worthless, the missiles streaking away in every direction without effect, save the few that actually careened into other Cylon vessels.

Colonial ordnance, however, consisted of direct-fire projectiles and had no such limitations. And although they were firing all their weapons using manual sighting, the combined Colonial fusillade still had a punishing advantage, one of numbers and in having damned good gun crews.

Unable to FTL away, their own missile ordnance rendered utterly impotent by the surrounding radiation emissions, the Cylons could do little in their own defense but try and reverse course. Even the few Raiders they launched in veritable desperation became quickly disoriented within the nebula, careening about aimlessly, little more than lost within the firing solutions of the Colonial warships.

As cannonade after cannonade slammed into each of the four Cylon Basestars, the crippling damage began to take its toll; entire spires were blown free from the main body of the ships, volleys slamming into the Baseships with such force that they blew right through the far side; in a decidedly gratifying turn of events from the last several horrific days, this time it was Cylons who were little more than helpless.

As the Colonial warships formed up and began a wide turn around their trapped quarry, a maneuver known colloquially throughout the fleet as 'Azyren's Turn', the Cylon vessels, outnumbered, outgunned, indeed at the moment decisively _outmatched_, began to succumb one by one. At last, the raw and insurmountable fury of the Colonial battle line exacted its final toll, the sole remaining Basestar vanishing in the brilliant flash of a devastating explosion that sent debris hurtling away into the void.

"We're clear, Commander," called Lieutenant Cortez triumphantly. "Fire control confirms; all enemy targets have been destroyed."

"Harris, get on the wireless and send my congratulations to Runel and his people," said Kelso as he reached a hand out to Burke. "Good idea having them hide in the nebula perimeter, Major Burke."

"Would seem they never saw it coming," grinned Burke as she clasped a hold of the Commander's hand.

Chuckling slightly, Commander Kelso turned and looked back over to Jack Foster.

"Well, Captain Foster, while I don't mean to seem like I'm rushing you out of my CIC, there are some displaced civvies back at Torvik who are going to be very anxious to get back aboard that ship of yours."

"Well, Commander, she did endure two pretty hairy landings during the extraction," smiled Foster as he absently scratched the back of his neck. "If a few of your deck gang can give me a hand, I would like to make sure our landing struts are still in good shape before I try and lift her off again."

"I'll have Chief Copeland get a team ready to help by the time you get back to the hangar deck," replied Kelso evenly as he extended a hand to the liner Captain. "And thanks again for your help."

"I just hope the Vipers you had latched to the hull didn't scratch the paint job too badly," chuckled Foster as he began making his way to the CIC entry hatch.

"I'll have Copeland check to see if we have any touch-up paint in stock," smiled Kelso as he watched Foster go.

"Just so long as it isn't Battlestar gray, Commander," countered Foster as he stepped out into the corridor and disappeared from view.

Chuckling slightly, Kelso returned his attention back to the DRADIS.

"Colonel Runel and his group report ready to return to Torvik Anchorage, Commander," called Harris.

"Very well," sighed Kelso as he glanced over at Burke. "Time to go get our civilians, then we can finally get the hell out of here."

* * *

**Raptor One-Two-Five  
****Recon Mission  
**

Lieutenant Samantha Larson looked up from the instruments at the maelstrom of color beyond the Raptor canopy.

"Is it me or do these controls feel a little clunky to you?" muttered Lieutenant Becker from the rear seat.

"She's been sitting in storage for gods only know how long, Becker," replied Larson as she forced herself to look back down at the instrument panel. "Tolerances are bound to be a bit tight."

"I miss our Scimitar," sighed Becker evenly.

"You just keep a keen eye on DRADIS," said Larson as she corrected the Raptor's course along the corridor. "Last thing I want is to bump into a Cylon welcoming committee."

"Come on, Sam, don't you miss our gunship even a little bit?"

"I'd rather make sure I have the chance to see it again," replied Larson evenly. "Now, you keep an eye on DRADIS and let me concentrate on keeping this clunky bucket on course or we might not make it back at all."

While her statement was as much to shut Becker up as anything, there was a very real modicum of truth in Larson's statement. Deep within the pulsar wind nebula surrounding Leto's Twins, everything within view was little more that a bright, colorful palette of expelled gas. To stay on course within the plotted corridor, one had to fly through the corridor strictly on instrumentation.

Hold course for so many minutes and seconds…turn so many degrees…hold that bearing for a specific length of time at a specific speed…and so on.

Stray from that center line and error creep became progressively worse. And if one flew too far off course, at least in a Raptor, it became all too likely that the pulsar emissions coupled with the energetic nebula would fry the bird's electronics. If that happened, there was only one way to describe the situation of the crew inside; fraked.

"How much longer till we reach the end of this tightrope?" asked Becker.

"We should be reaching the end of the corridor in about five minutes," replied Larson, her eyes locked on the panel. "Just one last turn…"

Slowly bringing the nose around, Larson throttled the Raptor up a bit; with no more turns, she could afford to bring up the speed.

"You think the Cylons are actually waiting out there?"

"Commander Kelso thinks they might be," replied Larson as she centered the control stick, setting the Raptor on a straight line. "So far they've lost a six of their Baseships out here; they're bound to know something's up."

"Well, so far there's nothing on DRADIS," sighed Becker. "Maybe we'll be able to make a clean getaway."

"Still a couple hundred kilometers before we get out of the cloud," replied Larson, braving a look out past the canopy. "We'll also have to watch for debris from the destroyed Basehips."

In spite of her own warnings though, she saw nothing but colors…

Sailing on for the remaining minutes, Larson began to wonder if she had indeed slipped off course when the nebula cloud gave no indication of dissipating.

"What were you expecting, a road sign?" chuckled Becker when Larson said as much aloud.

"No wait, I think we're okay," muttered Larson as she saw the cloud fade a bit in front of the Raptor. "Anything on DRADIS?"

"Nothing."

Looking down at her own panel, Larson saw that there was still a significant amount of interference.

"We still can't really see anything through this soup," sighed Larson as she reached up and pushed open the throttles. "I'm gonna push our nose out a little further."

"Just be sure you don't get our nose shot off."

Holding the stick steady, Larson slowly inched the Raptor further and further towards open space. Her eyes locked on her own DRADIS display, she kept a keen eye for anything. For several more minutes, the DRADIS was nothing but soup, the pulsar emissions coupled with the nebula obscuring the image.

"Nothing," sighed Becker. "Clock says we should head back."

"No, not yet," muttered Larson, her eyes still locked on her display.

"What? Why not?"

"Cause I'm not convinced yet," replied Larson flatly.

Nudging the throttles open a little more, Larson continued to watch her display.

For a moment, DRADIS seemed to clear…just long enough that a contact seemed to appear and then disappear again a moment later…

"Wait, did you see that?" snapped Larson.

"See what?"

"Give it a second."

Again, the contact appeared, then disappeared…

"I think something's out there," she said, biting her lip slightly.

"Didn't see it back here."

Her frustration mounting a bit, Larson pushed the throttles wide open, surging the Raptor forward with a kick of acceleration.

"Whoa, watch the speed."

"If there are no road signs, then there's no posted speed limits either," countered Larson flatly.

As the Raptor pushed even further beyond the corridor, DRADIS became progressively clearer.

"There!" burst Larson as the contact reappeared on DRADIS.

"Okay, I see it," snapped Becker, his voice raised a few octaves as the contact remained steady.

Pulling back on the throttles, Larson bumped the thrusters to slow the craft back down.

"Oh, _frak_," sighed Becker, his tone all but filled with dread.

"What?" snapped Larson, having taken her eyes away from DRADIS while she slowed the ship back down.

As she looked back down at the screen, however, Larson didn't have any need for Becker to explain.

In an instant her skin became cold, prickly, an icy chill running along her spine as she reflexively, hesitantly, looked up from the screen out into open space.

Her eyes growing wide, Larson sucked in a shocked breath as she looked out past the canopy. Unbelievably, Becker appeared next to her, his own gaze looking out at the armada arrayed before them.

Literally, an _armada_…

With eyes as wide as an awed child's, both Larson and Becker looked out at the ominous sight of eight Cylon Basestars hovering just beyond the corridor. All around, _thousands_ of Raiders surrounded the Basestars, like swarms of angry locusts ready to pounce.

"My _gods_," hissed Becker as he panned his head around at the view beyond the canopy.

"The gods are exactly who we're going to be talking to next unless we get the frak out of here now," snapped Larson as she nudged Becker back towards the rear. "Now sit down and hold on, we need to get the frak back to _Galactica_."

* * *

**Warstar _Galactica  
_****Command Operations Center  
**

"Well, at least it won't be a surprise," sighed Adrian Kelso as he set the gun camera photo of the Cylon armada down onto the large operations planning table.

"That it won't," sighed Runel as he leaned forward onto the plot table. "Problem is what do we do about it?"

"Cylons certainly amassed a lot of firepower out there," noted Major Jasper, _Ikenga_'s CO, as she gently played her fingers across one of the photos in her hand. "A _lot_ of firepower."

"No chance we could simply do an FTL from where we are?" asked one of the civilian captains assembled around the large table.

"We have no way of getting a firm FTL fix this far inside the nebula," stated Commander Sean Kelso as he continued to flip through the small stack of photos in his hands. "Even if we could, a pulsar flash while still within the energetic cloud could fry the FTL cores if we tried."

"So we'll have to get outside the nebula before we can even attempt an FTL," sighed Runel.

"And fly right into the serpent's nest," muttered Jasper.

"More like straight into the serpent's _mouth_," sighed Major Ambrose.

"Time for some serious out-of-the-box thinking, people," said Commander Sean Kelso flatly as he looked out at the assemblage.

"How long would it take to establish an FTL fix once we're outside the nebula?" asked Paul Bess.

"Even with the computers aboard _Galactica_, it would take approximately five minutes to find enough stellar markers to calculate our position for a jump," replied Sean Kelso evenly.

"A long time to be under fire from that many baseships," muttered Adrian Kelso evenly.

"Especially in a passenger liner," noted Jack Foster. "No armor makes for a bad day in a gunfight."

"What about moving all the people off the civilian ships?" asked _Adroa_'s CO, Major Ambrose.

"Even with as big as they are, we're already short on space aboard the heavy ships," noted Paul Bess, shaking his head slightly as he leaned forward. "Every last decom has people quite literally sitting in the hallways; don't know how many more we can cram aboard without risking riots."

"So the next problem is finding a way to protect the civilian ships while holding off the Cylon attack," sighed Adrian Kelso. "Pretty tall order, even for a ship this big."

Nodding his head in agreement with his father, Commander Sean Kelso's gaze went around the room, from face to face.

"Well, we need to figure out something," muttered Runel. "Cylons might be content to sit out there for the moment, but eventually, they'll make an attempt to get to us; we can't rely on the pulsar emissions to keep them at bay indefinitely."

"Pushing out, we'll take one hell-of-a pounding," began Colonel Brianna Webber evenly. "But with the combined firepower of all our combat assets, we might just be able to hold them off long enough to make the jump calculations."

"The combat assets might be able to, maybe even the unarmed decoms," interjected Adrian Kelso evenly. "But just one nuke could wipe out the civilian liners all at once."

"Too bad we can't just wrap them in armor," muttered one of the civilian captains.

"Wait a second; maybe we can," murmured Jack Foster as he glanced over to one of the other passenger liner captains. "Shepard, what are the dimensions on that whale of yours?"

Almost as soon as the words left Jack Foster's mouth, Commander Sean Kelso began to pick up on what the civilian captain was intimating as Shepard rattled off the dimensions of her liner. When she'd finished, Foster looked back over at Kelso.

"Tight, but it _would_ work," conceded Commander Kelso, gently nodding his head.

"_What_ would work, exactly?" asked the elder Kelso flatly.

"It's your idea," offered Sean Kelso as he motioned over at Jack Foster.

As all the eyes in the room focused in on the civilian captain, a slight grin appeared on the man's lips.

"We dock the liners _within_ the flight pods," said Foster.

It was like a light had gone off in their collective minds.

"Damn, that's so simple it might fraking work," chuckled Bess.

"Only _Galactica_ has pods large enough for the big liners," began Commander Kelso evenly as he looked out at the assemblage. "But we could put the smaller ships aboard _Pacifica_ and _Asterica_; are the pod retraction systems still functioning?"

Both the elder Kelso and Paul Bess nodded.

"Even better; with pods closed both ships will be like an armored shell around the liners," continued Commander Kelso. "Just as good as wrapping them in armor."

"What about our ships, sir?" asked one of the other civilian captains from one of the freighters.

"Specs on the freighters?"

As each of the four freighter captains rattled of their vessel specs, Commander Kelso began to shake his head.

"All too wide or too much draft," noted Kelso a moment later. "I'll leave it up to you gentleman, but we should consider evacuating your ships."

"No argument from me," snapped one of the freighter captains. "This was supposed to be the ship's last run anyway, due for retirement. What about you Evan?"

"I guess the company can't really sue me at this point," shrugged a second freighter captain, the last two nodding in agreement as well. "But you said all the other ships are already packed, where will we evac to?"

"_Galactica_, for now at least," replied Commander Kelso flatly. "Once we're clear of the combat zone, we'll work on reshuffling; our first priority is to get past that blockade."

"We should pull as many supplies as we can from all the freighters before we cut them loose," noted the not-so-unhappy captain from the now-doomed freighter _Mythic Explorer_. "Strip them right to the bulkheads, lightbulbs and all."

"Right," agreed Commander Kelso, lightly thumping his fist on the tabletop. "Let's get started."

* * *

"Getting pretty crowded here," muttered Adrian Kelso as he flattened himself up against the bulkhead to allow a couple people carrying a crate to pass.

"That it is," sighed Sean Kelso as he too stepped aside. "In any case, we should be ready to get underway in less than an hour."

As the two men continued on with the crate, both Sean and Adrian resumed making their way towards the flight deck.

"Just one thing I don't understand, son," began Adrian evenly. "Why are you pushing _Galactica_ out first? The moment you emerge, all eight of those Baseships are going to fire on your ship with _everything_ they've got."

"Simple, our computers are the fastest, we have the best chance of calculating the jump fix before the Cylons wipe out this fleet," replied Sean.

"But why the complication of this staggered emergence?" continued Adrian. "Why not just pull all ships out at the same time?"

"Corridor is too tight," replied Sean. "In case you haven't noticed, _Galactica_ is one big ship."

"I _have_ noticed," conceded Adrian as he absently glanced around at the widening corridor.

"Another problem is the debris from the Baseships we destroyed," continued Sean evenly. "Most of it was blown clear of the corridor when they exploded, but the Raptor charted enough of it that we'll need to be wary."

"Still, Runel's battlegroup could hold right on your tail and help establish the perimeter once you've cleared the corridor."

"They will."

"Almost _two minutes_ later," sighed Adrian, shaking his head slightly.

"Runel's ships have taken a beating the last couple days," said Sean evenly. "Worst case scenario, if _Galactica_ doesn't make it…"

"Don't even _fraking_ start," snapped Adrian, pausing midstep as he whipped out with his hand so quickly that the back of his hand landed with a slight thump against his son's chest. "I may not _like_ the plan, even if it's the _only_ plan available, but we are _all_ getting out of here _together_."

"Then give me the benefit of the doubt, Dad," began Sean, gently rubbing the spot where his father's hand had landed as the two of them resumed walking. "Five minutes; _Galactica_ emerges, pushes out, establishes the skirmish line and begins the calculations. At three minutes, Runel's ships push out and fall in tight to _Galactica_, a narrow front with interlocking fire solutions so we can throw up as thick a flak barrier as possible. At one minute, all the decoms emerge and fall in behind our cover. Calculations complete, coordinates relayed, all ships jump simultaneously."

"Just that simple?" asked Adrian as the two of them stepped out onto the flight deck.

"We can hope," sighed Sean wryly, cocking his head slightly.

"And no fighter cover?"

"Take too long to recover them," said Sean, shaking his head. "We need to be out and away as quickly as we can; we'll just have to depend on our weapons batteries to keep the Cylons at bay."

As they reached the Raptor that would transport Adrian back to _Pacifica_, the old Battlestar Commander turned to his son. At first, Adrian opened his mouth as if to say something, then waved whatever his thought was away as he reached out and took hold of Sean.

"Take care of yourself, Commander," said Adrian, choking back tears.

"I'll see you on the far side, _Commander_," replied Sean with a smirk.

Slowly releasing his son, Adrian squeezed his son's shoulder one last time, gave it a pat, turned, and stepped up the Raptor winglet.

As the hatch started to close, Sean Kelso watched as the deck gang moved the Raptor over towards the lift platform. Staying long enough to watch the Raptor disappear behind the lift's airlock door, Sean turned and looked around at the flurry of activity throughout the flight deck, the deck gang busily locking down and securing the aircraft and equipment. Five minutes under Cylon fire would be a harrowing experience, even aboard a ship as large as _Galactica_.

"Five minutes," muttered Sean as he watched the activity.

Clasping his hands behind his back, Commander Sean Kelso took one last look around, nodded his head softly, took a deep breath and began making his way back to CIC.

* * *

**Raptor Three-One-One  
****En route to Battlestar _Pacifica  
_**

Looking out past the canopy from the co-pilot seat, Adrian Kelso, former Commander in the Colonial Fleet, ad hoc commanding officer of the former Battlestar _Pacifica_, surreptitiously wiped a tear from his eye as he watched the Raptor make a wide turn around the Warstar _Galactica_.

"ETA six minutes, sir," stated Lieutenant Cooper as he glanced over at Kelso.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," replied Adrian evenly.

"Are you okay, sir?"

"I'll be fine, Lieutenant."

As the _Galactica_ passed out of view, Kelso found himself straining a bit to keep her within sight, but quickly settled back into the seat as the Raptor came around towards the _Pacifica_.

"We'll see her again, sir," said Cooper evenly a moment later.

Somewhat surprised, Kelso looked over at the young Lieutenant.

"What makes you say that, Cooper?"

Chuckling slightly, Cooper shook his head.

"I guess I can't quite say, sir," began Cooper as he looked over at Kelso. "Just a feeling, I guess."

"There's got to be some reason, Lieutenant," replied Kelso as he looked over at the _Pacifica_.

For a moment, Lieutenant Cooper sat there, silent, mulling it over.

"Because he's your son, sir," interjected Lieutenant Lee as he appeared in between the two seats.

"Well that's a hell-of-a reason," chuckled Kelso as he glanced over at Lee. "Just because he's my son doesn't make him invincible."

"Maybe not," conceded Cooper evenly as he looked over at the former Commander. "But it does seem to have made him a _survivor_."

* * *

**Warstar Galactica  
****Combat Information Center (CIC)  
**

"Action Stations, Action Stations; set Condition One throughout the ship; this is not a drill. Action Stations, Action Stations; set Condition One throughout the ship; this is not a drill. Section heads report to Combat upon manning of Action Stations."

His eyes locked on the obscured DRADIS screen overhead, Commander Sean Kelso simply listened as Major Tyra Burke finished the announcement and hung up the handset.

"We'll be emerging from the corridor in five minutes, Commander," called Lieutenant Cortez.

"Very well, Lieutenant," replied Kelso as he looked over at Major Burke. "Prepare to initiate the battle plan, Major Burke."

"Aye, sir."

Returning his eyes to the screen overhead, Kelso saw that the more powerful DRADIS array aboard _Galactica_ had begun to receive intermittent contact with the Cylon Basestars hovering just beyond the mouth of the entry corridor.

Intermittent in that their signatures would appear and disappear. Nevertheless, their presence was keenly felt.

"Helm, we need to give a wide berth to the ships following us," began Burke as she stood watching the screen overhead. "Hold course and push us out to five kilometers before initiating our turn."

"Understood, Major," replied Petty Officer Chapman.

"Any final words, sir?" asked Burke as she leaned over the table slightly.

Looking over at the Major, Kelso looked her in the eye as she gently motioned her head towards the crew around CIC. Slowly taking a step back from the plot table, Kelso picked up the handset from the side of the plot table, toggled the switch for the One-MC, then began looking around the CIC, looking out to each and every face.

Smiling slightly, Kelso took a steadying breath.

"This is the Commander," he said evenly as he looked around at his crew. "In a matter of moments, we will be engaging the enemy. Were this some old war movie rather than real life, I suppose this is the moment where I would muster the words to deliver a rousing speech that would rally your spirits and lead us to victory."

The visible tension and apprehension in the faces around him was clear, palpable. Nevertheless, Commander Kelso managed to smirk a bit as he continued.

"And as cliché as it is, I guess I wish it were just a movie because I could use some of those stirring words right now myself."

Taking a deep breath, his smirk faded a bit.

"But this _isn't_ a movie, this is _real life_. I can't give you any certainties about the outcome of this battle beyond this; either we _succeed_, or we _fail_. There is _no_ second place, _no_ second chance. Do what you've been trained to do, trust in the person beside you; I'm not _asking_ that of you, it's what I _expect_."

Looking around one last time, Commander Sean Kelso took one last deep breath and gently nodded his head.

"Now, let's go to work people."

Placing the handset back into its place, Commander Kelso returned his attention to DRADIS overhead. The interference from the nebula and pulsars had cleared enough that several of the Baseships waiting outside the corridor were now firmly locked in the system.

Moreover, it seemed clear that the Cylons had picked up the _Galactica_ as she ascended through the corridor; massive formations of Raiders had begun to deploy themselves in such a way that they would quickly and easily swarm down upon the Colonials the moment they emerged.

Taking slow, steady breaths, his fingers lightly tapping on the plot table, Kelso continued to watch DRADIS, waiting expectantly as the Warstar _Galactica_ churned up the last leg through the corridor.

"We have exited the corridor, Commander," announced Burke, her fingers instinctively gripping tightly onto the plot table. "Steady on course to five kilometer perimeter point."

"Very well," snapped Kelso as he watched his ship continue to sail defiantly towards the enemy ships. "Lieutenant Cortez, start establishing those stellar fix points. I don't want to stay here any longer than we have to."

"Aye, Commander," replied Cortez, casting a momentary, hesitant glance at the Cylons on DRADIS.

"We've reached five-K from the corridor, Commander," announced Petty Officer Chapman from the helm. "Initiating turn to Starboard."

"Cylon Raiders inbound, Commander," snapped Burke. "Multiple vectors, CBDR, two minutes till they're within weapons range."

His pulse quickening, Kelso watched as the wall of Raiders dove in en masse and began racing straight for the _Galactica_, over a thousand of them…

"Major get on the horn, advise gunnery to prepare full suppressive barrage, flak loads in all main guns," snapped Kelso.

"What about the Baseships, Commander?" asked Burke evenly as she slowly lifted the handset to her ear. "Flak loads won't even dent them."

"Forget them," muttered Kelso evenly as he eyes continued to watch DRADIS. "Raiders are the prime threat right now. If we don't pepper those Raiders with everything we've got, there'll be nothing left of us for those Baseships to have to worry about."

Nodding gently, Burke toggled the switch for Gunnery and relayed the Commander's orders.

"Sir, Gunnery reports they're still getting a lot of interference from the pulsar on DRADIS," began Burke, her eyes wandering back up to DRADIS as the color slowly began to drain from her face. "Auto-targeting is having difficulty establishing a firing solution."

"Then order them to go to _manual_," snapped Kelso as he watched the wall of Raiders continue to swoop down towards his ship. "We need to clip the wings of those birds the moment they're within range; I want them to keep walking their rounds in right along with the enemy advance, keep our flak bursts right in the middle of their forward elements."

"Turn complete, Commander," called Chapman. "We are in position to deliver a full broadside."

"Gunnery reports they've gone over to manual, ready to initiate barrage on your order," stated Burke.

His eyes locked on DRADIS, all of Commander Sean Kelso's attention was focused on the line. Itself only a few computer generated pixels marking a point in space, an artificial border delineating nothing more than that point where the Cylons and Colonials could start pounding away at one another with their weapons.

And the Cylons had begun to cross that line…

"Commence fire, all main and secondary batteries," snapped Kelso as the Raiders sailed into _Galactica_'s engagement zone. "Time we showed the Cylons why they called this ship a _War_star."

Throughout CIC, the resounding thud of _Galactica_'s guns opening up echoed through the air, reverberating through the bulkheads, through the very deck beneath their feet. With both main cannons hurtling shredding flak loads and the secondary cannons throwing up a hail of fire, the entire wall of advancing Raiders was sprayed with a lethal cannonade that ripped through the relatively frail fighters.

* * *

By sheer weight of numbers, the Cylons continued to push forward through the withering fire. Undeterred by the volume of ordnance being thrown up by the Colonial warship, they raced ahead through the blasts, through the debris of their shredded compatriots, intent on the kill.

Turning, veering, evading, they maneuvered in through the wall of fire from _Galactica_ as another order came to them, relayed through the hybrids aboard their mother Baseships.

In response to that order, all throughout the advancing wall of Raiders, the underside doors over the winglet ordnance bays opened.

* * *

"Radiological alarm!" snapped Burke.

In an instant, all throughout the formation, DRADIS began designating literally hundreds of the Raiders, highlighting them as carrying an active nuclear warhead.

"Commander, DRADIS indicates we have over two _hundred_ Raiders targeting us with nukes," called Lieutenant Cortez.

"You let us fight the battle, Lieutenant," barked Kelso as he watched the DRADIS continue to highlight still more of the closing Raiders. "You get me those damned jump coordinates!"

Across the table from the Commander, Major Burke slowly shook her head, her throat choked so tight she could barely breath.

"We _can't_..," she whispered, shaking her head gently. "We simply _can't_ repel that many…"

Just then, the Cylon Raiders launched their first volley of missiles.

* * *

**Battlecruiser _Enceladus  
_**

Shaking his head, in anger, in frustration, Colonel Thadius Runel leaned in over the plot table as he listened over the wireless to the pounding being absorbed by the _Galactica_.

Despite their numbers, the Cylons were being relatively conservative in their attack on the Warstar. The first volley had included both conventional warheads as well as nukes. Some of the missiles had been knocked down by _Galactica_'s main and defensive batteries, others were scrambled by either the background radiation or ECM systems. Nevertheless, the massive warship was still absorbing a considerable amount of punishment.

But, she was still in the fight…

"We have cleared the corridor, Colonel," called Lieutenant Thorpe as the _Enceladus_ pushed out to join the fray beside _Galactica_. "Main batteries are reporting difficulty establishing a firing solution and are going to manual."

"Very well."

Watching DRADIS, Runel secretly wondered, worried, even with two ships in the fight there were a hell-of-a-lot of Raiders racing in; if they got in close, they'd be almost impossible to take out and be able to inflict pin-point damage. They needed to drastically cut into the enemy, truly hurt them while they were still at a standoff distance if they were going to survive.

And damned if he hadn't learned by his own experience a good way to do that.

"Lieutenant Thorpe, prepare a strike package…"

* * *

**Warstar _Galactica  
_**

The deck pitching violently beneath his feet under the punishing assault _Galactica_ was trying to fight off, Commander Sean Kelso looked up at DRADIS in time to see the Battlecruiser _Enceladus_ push out and begin her turn.

"Radiological alarm!" shouted Major Burke.

All around, the entire ship pitched, bucking under another hard series of impacts, drowning out Burke as she attempted to continue her report.

For his part, Kelso wasn't sure what else could be done to prevent another Cylon nuclear launch; _Galactica_ was already firing away with everything she had.

Looking up at the screen overhead, Kelso watched as the _Enceladus_ erupted in a hail of missiles. But that didn't make sense; Runel had to know the guidance systems were susceptible to the background radiation from the pulsars.

Nevertheless, the _Enceladus_' missiles raced away straight and true, rocketing past the _Galactica_ headlong into the swarming mass of Raiders bearing down on them. But while Kelso had expected the missiles to find some targets in the enemy formation, what he _hadn't_ been expecting…

…was the telltale signature of multiple nuclear detonations erupting within the roiling mass of enemy fighters…

Kelso couldn't help but grin.

Colonel Thadius Runel; that beautiful, crazy son-of-a-bitch.

The volley launched by the _Enceladus_ hadn't needed to be pinpoint accurate. With the missiles dispersed throughout the entire line of Raiders, the nuclear detonations had blasted massive gaps within the wall of enemy fighters. Against weapons designed to take out enemy Baseships, the nimble fighters were crushed en masse, vast swaths blasted to oblivion in the audacious strike.

Even as the stunned enemy tried to regroup in the face of so staggering a blow, the _Enceladus_ followed up her initial hammer blow by opening up with her conventional guns, adding her cannonade to that already being laid down by the _Galactica_.

Even as the _Enceladus_ completed her turn into position, the destroyers _Adroa_ and _Ikenga_, close behind on the proverbial heels of the stout Battlecruiser, likewise began to maneuver into place, raking the flanks of the Cylon advance.

But with the enemy's initial thrust ripped to shreds, their Raiders in disarray, the Baseships themselves maneuvered in to join the fray.

"Basestars are launching missiles!" snapped Burke as she practically pulled herself back to her feet by the plot table. "Two hundred-plus inbound!"

His eyes locked on the screen overhead, Kelso said nothing.

ECM, background radiation, flak barrier, suppressive fire; it could all only do so much to whittle away at the enemy barrage.

Gripping tightly onto the plot table, Kelso waited for the inevitable…

As the first hits slammed into the _Galactica_, Kelso fought desperately to keep from being tossed across the CIC. With the deck pitching hard with each missile impact, he held firm to the plot table.

"Jump calculations, Lieutenant?" shouted Kelso, his voice barely audible over the thundering impacts echoing throughout CIC.

"Two more minutes, Commander!" shouted Lieutenant Cortez as an impact nearly vaulted him over the jump console.

Even as another series of impacts slammed into the Warstar, Kelso was able to look up at DRADIS long enough to see that the two other carriers, _Savitri_ and _Proteus_, had maneuvered into position along the defense line, adding their fire to the effort.

For all the good it did…

The Cylons were clearly intent on taking the _Galactica_ down. Practically ignoring the smaller Colonial ships, the enemy was concentrating their fire on the wounded leviathan.

All around CIC, panels exploded, crewmen screamed as overloads caused their consoles to erupt in a shower of sparks. Glancing over, Kelso peered through the thickening haze of smoke to the damage control. All across the panel, indicator lights sparkled bright red, highlighting the punishment the massive vessel was enduring.

And the FTL cores?

Still online…

But for how long?

"Gods dammit!" spat Burke as she struggled to pull herself up from the deck for at least the third time.

Returning his eyes to DRADIS, Kelso watched as the decommissioned vessels carrying the bulk of the civilian survivors pushed past the mouth of the corridor and nestled themselves in tightly behind the protective sphere being created by _Galactica_ and the others.

The surviving Raiders that had managed to close the distance were now swarming from nearly every direction, racing in along the axis of the ship, veering about, turning, firing, coming in again, like a swarm of angry insects, biting at the massive Warstar.

All around, Kelso could hear the very hull of the _Galactica_ buckling under the enemy fire, like a wounded beast, she seemed to groan under the punishing impacts of missile after missile.

After years of supervising her construction, he knew her…

Stout or not, she had a limit…

"Jump calculations complete!" shouted Lieutenant Cortez excitedly.

"Relay to the fleet, Lieutenant!" called Kelso as he held tightly onto the plot table under another series of hard impacts.

"All ships acknowledge receipt, Commander!" called Petty Officer Harris from the Comm station, a split second before a breaker panel near her head exploded in a shower of sparks.

Crying out in agony, she fell to the deck, unmoving…

For the moment, there was no way to know if she was dead or just unconscious…

No time…

"Burke, relay to fleet, jump in ten seconds, on my mark!" snapped Kelso as he cast his eyes back to the screens overhead.

"Aye, sir!"

"Ready for jump!" shouted Cortez.

"All ships acknowledge ready for jump!" shouted Burke as she stood, one hand gripping the plot table, one holding the handset to her ear.

"Mark!" burst Kelso.

Ten seconds…

Another series of pounding impacts rocked _Galactica_…

Eight…

Losing her grip, Burke was suddenly hurled back onto the deck, tumbling away into a bulkhead…

Six…

Thrown forward, Kelso slammed his stomach hard against the plot table, knocking the wind out of him, leaving his wheezing…

Four…

One of the brackets holding a DRADIS screen in place broke free, sending the screen tumbling…

Two…

The screen landed hard on Kelso's head, clattering to the deck as searing pain shot through his skull…

"Jump!" shouted Cortez.

His hand clutched to the pounding in his skull, Kelso felt a warm, slick sensation in between his fingers, his head spinning as he vaguely felt himself collapsing to the deck, darkness swarming over him…

* * *

**Leto's Twins  
**

Untold eons ago, two nascent stars slipped from the stellar nursery of the universe's beginning and became locked into orbit around one another. After a time near immeasurable, the two of them collapsed into twin neutron stars, creating the dual pulsar formation that would come to be known by humanity as Leto's Twins.

In the chaos of that collapse, the few uninhabited planetoids that had orbited the binary system were pulverized into dust by the chaotic shifts in gravity, combining with the energetic ejecta of the collapse itself to become the sustaining matter upon which they would feed.

For untold thousands of millennia, the Twins had continued their celestial dance around one another, their energetic pulsations feeding and at the same time feeding upon the energetic nebula that slowly formed around them. The cycle of ejection and consumption continued, drawing in particles to fuel the nuclear fusion that expelled still more energy into the space surrounding them.

Still countless more millennia after their formation, following a devastating war precipitated by humanity's hubris, their intrusion into the domain of gods by the creation of new life, mankind came to the Twins and built a supply station, stockpiling it with the tools and materials with which they could defend themselves from their own creations.

And then, within what was on a cosmic scale little more than the blink of an eye, another group of the humans had returned, seeking those supplies and a refuge from the genocidal vengeance of their handiwork.

All too quickly, the war within which they found themselves embroiled had followed them.

And now as their last desperate battle to escape raged on the proverbial doorstep of the apathetic pulsars, unseen, a massive gravitational current swept another wave of particles into the twin nuclear furnaces.

In burst of energetic release, like the snapping of fingers by some unseen omnipotent being, the normally stable pattern of consumption and emission from the pulsars was disrupted, an eruption suddenly flaring up on a scale immeasurable, a massive wave of energy and radiation that engulfed the human ships.

The Cylon Basestars, fully invested in wiping out the Colonial warships, gave little notice to what their instruments were identifying as an unusual yet localized increase in the radiant emissions from the pulsars, one that posed no threat in spite of the frantic cries of their hybrids, their frenzied screams suddenly echoing off the bulkheads.

But aboard the human ships, the tangible effect of the energy release was far greater.

As their own technology forged an artificial hyper-dimensional link between two disparate points in space, altering the basic physics and relationship between space and time, the energy released by the pulsars washed over the ships, enhancing the reaction, contorting it, feeding it, increasing the energy release created within the human ships on an exponential scale.

In an instant, a convergence of chance or design, the altered physics created by the humans was distorted even further, twisted in a fashion far, far beyond the control of the mere mortals huddled aboard the relatively fragile ships.

And then, in a bright flash of light, they were gone.


	10. Part 9 - Into the Wilderness

**Warstar _Galactica  
_****Location Unknown  
**

The first sensation he felt was pain; a pounding, unrelenting, excruciating pain in his skull.

By that, Commander Sean Kelso could at least be certain of one thing.

"I'm alive," he whispered, his throat dry, his voice raspy.

"Commander?" muttered a voice, at first indistinct. "Commander, I need you to talk to me."

Slowly, he tried to open his eyes, only to have a bright light cast down into them, blinding him.

His already throbbing head pounding still harder, Kelso clasped his eyes back shut against the light.

"Commander, I need you to talk to me," urged the voice again.

All of the sudden, Kelso realized that someone was actually slapping him. No, not a slap actually, more a gentle but insistent tapping against his cheek.

Slowly opening his eyes again, Kelso looked up to see two people staring back down at him; one was Major Burke, the other he didn't know.

"I need to get him to medical," said the woman he didn't recognize flatly.

Clearly worried, Burke simply nodded.

Within moments two more crewmen stepped into Kelso's view, immediately setting a stretcher down next to him.

"Careful," said the unfamiliar woman as the two crewmen knelt down beside him as well, one at his head, the other at his feet.

"Oh, you're a medic," muttered Kelso weakly as he caught sight of the sash on her upper arm.

His head still pounding, his consciousness little more than a blur, Kelso was only vaguely aware of the two crewmen lifting him over to the stretcher.

"Okay now; one, two, three, lift," muttered one of the crewmen as Kelso felt himself suddenly rise up on the stretcher.

As the two crewmen began stepping towards the CIC hatch with the stretcher now bearing the wounded Commander, Kelso's foggy perceptions cleared enough that he reached up with his hand and grabbed onto the sleeve of the man at his head.

"Wait, hold it a minute," he muttered. "Put me down for a second."

"Commander, we need to get you to medical," urged the young medic who was standing beside him, checking his pulse.

"I said _hold_ it a minute," growled Kelso weakly as he grabbed hold of her wrist. "That's an order."

Looking down at him, she hesitated for a moment before relenting with a gentle nod.

Obediently, the two men carrying the stretcher slowly set him back down.

"Major Burke?" groaned Kelso as he lifted his head up and strained to look around at his visibly shattered CIC.

"Commander?" muttered Burke as she stepped over and knelt down beside him.

"Did we make it, Major?"

"Yes, Commander, the jump was successful."

"And the others?"

"DRADIS is a mess, but we got in contact over short range wireless; all ships are present and accounted for, sir."

"Good," sighed Kelso, truly relieved as he dropped his head back down onto the stretcher. "What's the damage?"

"We'll be picking up the pieces for a while, sir, but we're alive. We've already got DC and medical teams coming over from the rest of the fleet to assist."

"Very good, Major," sighed Kelso as he closed his eyes against the bright lights overhead. "Have Runel put his ships in a defensive pattern…and, you have the conn."

"Aye, Commander."

With that, the two men lifted Kelso back up, and with the medic at his side, stepped out into the flickering lights in the corridor and began making their way towards the medical bay.

Turning back to face the shattered CIC, Burke took a deep breath, the air acrid with the scent of scorched metal and burnt insulation, and watched the remaining crewmembers continue to assess the damage.

Making her way over to Lieutenant Cortez, Burke stepped over the shattered DRADIS screen that had fallen down onto the Commander's head.

"Damage report, Lieutenant?" asked Burke as she stepped up next to Cortez.

"We have dozens of fires amidships, spread between frames one-ten and three-oh-five," replied Cortez evenly. "DC teams have them contained, but it could still be a while before they're able to access those sections and give a full report; Cylons really did a number on us, Major."

"Where are we with propulsion?"

"Offline," sighed Cortez, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Main engineering has shut down all tylium transfer lines to keep from feeding the fires."

"And what about our weapons?"

"We're running on aux generators only, Major," replied Cortez evenly, shaking his head slightly. "Main cannons are down. Suppressive batteries have power, but the ammo hoists are down to all mounts save those along the flight pods."

"Keep on it," sighed Burke.

But as she was about to step away, Burke couldn't help but note the peculiar expression on Cortez's face. He seemed hesitant, uncertain.

"Is there something else, Lieutenant?" she prodded.

Glancing up at Burke, Cortez was clearly disturbed, his entire expression seeming to convey just one thought; something else was definitely wrong.

"What is it?" asked Burke adamantly.

"The stars, Major," muttered Cortez as he pointed over towards the lone unshattered screen on his console. "I've been trying to get a firm fix on our position but…the stars…"

"What about the stars?"

"They're…_wrong_, Major," muttered Cortez as he dropped his hands back down into his lap.

"I'm afraid I don't follow, Lieutenant."

Letting out a long sigh, Lieutenant Cortez turned to look at Burke.

"The _jump_, Major, I think something went wrong during our FTL jump," he said evenly. "All the ships made the jump, we all arrived in the same _place_, but it's not where we were _supposed_ to be from the calculations we made."

Looking back at the screen, Burke felt her heart begin beating faster.

"The charts we have on the Prolmar sector are sketchy at best, Lieutenant," began Burke as she too looked at the screen. "Might just be navigational creep."

"This goes way beyond navigational creep, Major," replied Cortez flatly. "Stellar drift, inertial or gravitational distortion, none of it would even begin to account for _this_."

"Just what are you saying, Lieutenant?"

"Well, we're _not_ in Colonial space anymore, that much is clear," began Cortez evenly, running a hand back through his sweat dampened hair. "But, we're not in the Prolmar sector either."

"Then where are we, Lieutenant?"

"That's the problem, Major," sighed Cortez, his tone somewhat defeated. "I have no idea where we are."

* * *

******Battlestar _Pacifica  
_****Forward Observation Lounge  
**

With his hands clasped tightly behind his back, Adrian Kelso, former Commander in the Colonial Fleet, stood looking out the ultra-thick window at the Warstar _Galactica_; his son's ship.

At first glance, one might not think there was much wrong with the vessel.

Although her main engines were shut down, she was maintaining her trim, indeed, there were even Raptors and Shuttles moving back and forth from her flight decks to some of the other ships in the fleet.

But to a trained eye, an eye which had seen the wounds of war first hand, eyes like his, the mighty _Galactica_'s survival seemed to be anything but certain.

Across the entire length of her once pristine armored hull, massive burn marks, dents and torn alloy marked the numerous impacts the vessel had endured during her toe-to-toe slug-match with the Cylons.

Although technically it hadn't been a lone stand, every combat-capable ship in their ad hoc fleet had joined in the melee, the Cylons themselves had clearly concentrated their efforts in a very single-minded, almost fanatical attack on _Galactica_ alone.

And for the stout defense she had put up against such a determined, brutal assault, the Warstar looked every bit the wounded leviathan she was. Along her hull, the occasional vent action would release a torrent of rapidly suffocated flames into space, cracks in the thick alloy-ceramic armor were venting jets of water vapor and atmosphere into the vacuum.

"Gods damned mother-fraking sons-a-bitches," muttered Adrian angrily as he lashed out and slammed a fist into the unfeeling window.

His breath heavy and ragged, his now-aching knuckles pressed firmly against the window, Adrian Kelso dipped his head, fighting to contain the sobs of rage, of fear, that threatened to overwhelm him.

Before he'd come down to the observation lounge, Adrian had spoken very briefly with Major Burke. When she'd told him that his son was injured and had been taken to the infirmary, Adrian had nearly jumped in a Raptor to come over himself.

The only thing that had prevented him from doing so was his own training from so long ago. In very practical terms, the last thing the crew of _Galactica_ needed was an old man prattling about the corridors looking for his son while damage control teams were still fighting to save the ship itself.

And so it was that instead of racing over himself, like most every other ship in the fleet, Adrian had organized together as many DC and medical teams as he could and sent them over to assist _Galactica_'s crew.

Now, alone, feeling frustrated and helpless, Adrian Kelso looked back up through the thick window, out across the breathless void, out at the ship that had nearly been sacrificed along with his son to make good their escape and began praying the most earnest prayer he had ever uttered that his son was still alive.

* * *

******Warstar _Galactica  
_****Infirmary  
**

As he once again struggled back to consciousness, the first thing Commander Sean Kelso became aware of was the sound of someone screaming; a truly horrible, blood-curdling scream of someone in an unimaginable amount of pain.

Groggy as he was, it took Kelso a moment to remember being evacuated from the CIC. But as he lay there, eyes shut, surrounded by men and women, some desperately crying out in pain, Kelso wasn't quite sure exactly where it was he'd been taken.

His head swimming, pounding, Kelso slowly opened his eyes.

As he did so, a wave of nausea passed over him, churning his stomach as his head throbbed with pain. Taking several deep, steadying breaths, Kelso fought against the pain, fought against the gripping reflex he felt to vomit.

As he continued to fight back down the nausea, Kelso continued to hear the myriad of shouts and screams echoing around him. All around him, curses were muttered, orders shouted, people yelling for help, calling for medications and equipment.

Though he was by no means certain he would be able to maintain his at-best tentative control over the gut wrenching nausea, Commander Sean Kelso mustered every last measure of his fortitude and slowly pushed himself into a seated position.

And doing so immediately sent his head spinning.

Taking slow, deep breaths, he sat there with his eyes closed as he fought back against the spinning sensation. As it finally ebbed away, Kelso opened his eyes again, looked around, and saw nothing short of a hellish nightmare surrounding him.

Having been set off to one side of the compartment, Kelso was able to look out over the entirety of the packed infirmary. All around, Medics were rushing from patient to patient, screaming crewman reaching out, groping at the air with charred hands. All around him they lay, on stretchers, on the deck, propped up against bulkheads. Low moans of pain, punctuated by piercing screams, the sounds of a few sobbing gently. Over on a bed, a man cried out in horrible pain as the Medics worked to peel away some of the charred remnants of his burned uniform, the blackened, bloody skin beneath looking anything but human.

All around there was blood; bloody handprints on the bulkheads, on uniforms, bloody footprints on the deck, pooling around bodies, blood-soaked bandages overflowing from the waste baskets, lying in scattered piles around them, the once orderly infirmary now a horrific image of butchered and broken bodies.

And for each man or woman who already lay screaming, moaning, or even unmoving around him, it seemed that three more stretcher teams were bringing in still more injured, dead, or dying.

As he slowly kicked his legs over the edge of the stretcher he was on, the entryway again opened, two Marines rushing in, carrying the charred, screaming form of a comrade, a tourniquet wrapped around the bloody stump that had once been his leg, the traumatically-truncated limb twitching eerily as a third man fumbled to keep pressure on a compress bandage, a fourth man following close, the shredded remains of the severed leg visible through the clear trash bag in his hands.

With his stomach churning for the first time from something other than the pounding in his skull, Kelso looked away in revulsion, leaning forward as he gulped in several deep, almost desperate breaths.

"Oh, dear gods," he muttered, forcing himself to look back up at the horribly wounded Marine as one of the Medics rushed forward with a syringe of morpha. "What have I done?"

It was then that a one of the Medics noted that he was awake, quickly stepping over to kneel down next to the Commander.

"Are you okay, sir?"

Unable to muster enough strength to speak, his voice almost lost to him, his throat feeling choked, tight, Kelso nevertheless looked the Medic in the eye, nodded, and motioned for him to move on to the myriad of other, far more grievously injured patients.

Nodding, the Medic stood back up and rushed over to the entry as another patient being carried by two grime-covered deckhands stepped in.

Reaching over, Kelso gripped his hand around a service pipe running from the deck to the ceiling, gave it a gentle tug, testing how firmly it was anchored, and once convinced it would handle his weight, slowly began pulling himself back up to his feet.

Gritting his teeth against the excruciating pounding within his skull, Commander Sean Kelso at last planted his feet on the deck and straightened up.

As the latest wave of nausea once again abated, Kelso opened his eyes, steadying himself against the pipe. Then, with slow, deliberate steps, he released his hold on the pipe and began making his way through the hellish scene.

His heart heavy with sorrow, Kelso watched as the Medics continued to work feverishly to attend to the dozens upon dozens of wounded. With the woefully few Doctors occupied with the most seriously wounded, medics were beginning to act as Doctors, and regular deckhands acting as medics.

As he continued to make his way slowly through the horrific chaos, he was startled when he felt a hand clasp onto his leg. Looking down, he saw the partially charred face of a woman looking up at him from a stretcher.

"Who's there?" she gasped, choking on the blood in her throat.

Kneeling down beside her, Kelso gently took hold of her bloody, outstretched hand.

"_Who's there_?" she pleaded, sobbing. "Gods, please, I don't want to die."

As she lay there, bleeding, her body shaking, convulsing, her eyes darted about, unseeing, her hair matted with sweat and blood.

"You're going to be okay, crewman," he whispered, his own voice raspy, choked.

Reaching up, he wiped away a tear that had begun to fall down his cheek, then reached down and pushed a lock of hair from her face.

Gods, she was little more than a child, nineteen at most…

"Who are you?" she asked, gasping, coughing.

"It's not important," he muttered, trying to choke back his own tears.

"Did we make it?" she asked weakly, her voice growing weak. "Did we get away from the Cylons?"

He could feel her hand going limp in his, her strength ebbing quickly.

"Did we make it?" she implored again urgently, mustering her last strength into her quaking hand, squeezing his intently.

"Yeah," he muttered, another tear falling down his cheek. "We made it, crewman."

Burned, bloodied, she smiled weakly.

And then, with one last gurgling exhale, her body went still, her hand limp.

Reaching up, he pushed his shaking fingers against her neck, feeling for a pulse.

She was gone.

Had she recognized his voice? In her last moments, had she known who she was speaking to? Did it really matter if she had?

With a sinking heart, Kelso reached up, and with a quaking hand, gently closed her eyes. Looking down, he saw that she was clutching onto a small idol pendant with her other hand.

It had to be one of her matron gods.

Reaching over, he gently placed the hand with the pendant onto her chest over her heart, then gently wrapped the hand he'd been holding around the idol as well.

Numb, Kelso slowly stood back up, his eyes transfixed on the lovely young woman who'd just died.

With still more choked tears rolling down his cheek, he looked up to see that he himself was being watched. Huddled together off to one side of the infirmary, two crewmen and another injured Marine sat propped against a bulkhead. As they all met his gaze, one of the crewman muttered something to the other two, then he and the Marine stood up, they in turn reaching down to help pull the third to his feet.

For a moment, all three stood there, bloodied, battered, staring across a veritable hell at him.

Then, slowly, deliberately, all three came to attention and saluted him.

Overcome, indeed, supremely humbled by the gesture, he fought his reflex to look away; in that moment, standing amidst the carnage his orders had wrought upon his crew, he felt little more than ashamed. And yet, here, amid that same carnage, these three, themselves wounded as well, were honoring him in the simplest, yet truly most profound way they could.

His breath quickening, full tears welling up in his eyes, Kelso held their gaze, came to attention, and with a trembling hand, returned the salute. As all three slowly slumped back down onto the deck, their strength sapped, Kelso was nothing short of overwhelmed.

Wiping away the tears that were spilling down his cheeks, Kelso turned and began making his way towards the entryway.

"Commander!" snapped a voice from behind, just barely cutting through the screams still echoing out through the infirmary.

Turning around, Kelso saw Major Cassiopeia Lefler, the Chief Medical Officer they'd rescued from the _Heracles_. With her medical smock all but soaked in blood, Lelfer tossed a pair of bloodied gloves onto a pile beside the overflowing trash bin and stepped towards him.

"Where do you think you're going, Commander?" she snapped as she stepped up, propping her hands on her hips as she came almost nose to nose with him.

"I have a ship to command, Major," replied Kelso flatly, his voice gravely, his throat dry.

"What you have is head trauma and a possible concussion," countered Lelfer flatly as she reached over and took hold of his arm. "You're not going anywhere till I have an MRI…"

As she gave his arm a tug, Lefler was visibly surprised when Kelso pulled himself out of her grip.

"There are plenty of people who are injured far worse than I am, Major," said Kelso as he turned and once again began making his way towards the entryway. "The only way you're going to keep me here is to have a couple Marines cuff me to a stretcher."

"I'll _do it_."

"With the ship in the shape she's in, if you think you think you can find a couple Marines to do it, then be my guest, Major," replied Kelso evenly as he stepped out into the corridor. "I'll be in CIC when you're ready to have me dragged back down here."

* * *

If anyone had been able to stop and ask the Commander how long it had taken him to make the trip from the infirmary to CIC, Sean Kelso would never habe been able to give them an answer. Between the pounding in his head, the waves of nausea, and the shocked numbness he felt emotionally, he was literally taking each step as it came, bracing himself against the bulkhead as he moved. The flickering lights overhead did little to help his disorientation, but by sheer force of will, Commander Sean Kelso fought his way back to the CIC.

As he rounded the last corner, he was only vaguely aware of the Marine posted outside the entry hatch watching him intently. Nevertheless, when his legs faltered for a moment as he made his way down a small flight of stairs, Kelso was grateful for his presence when the Marine rushed forward, grabbing hold of his arms, keeping the Commander on his feet.

"Whoa, I've got you, Commander," sighed the Marine as he helped steady Kelso.

Looking up, Kelso saw that it was Corporal Daniels, the same Marine Kelso had spoken with before about his desire to become a teacher.

"Still feels like the ship is moving," smiled Kelso weakly as he slowly regained his balance.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Kelso fought back against the dizziness, gave Daniels an appreciative pat on the shoulder, then reached out towards the CIC hatch. Somewhat embarrassed when his own hand missed the locking latch, his fingers coming up short and grasping at empty air, Kelso was once again grateful when Daniels reached over and opened the hatch for the Commander.

Nodding in appreciation, Commander Kelso forced himself to straighten up, gave his uniform tunic a curt tug, then stepped into CIC.

"Commander on deck!" shouted a voice.

Although he didn't know offhand which crewman it was that had announced his presence, Kelso did not miss the myriad of pleased, even shocked expressions on the faces around CIC as he slowly made his way towards the plot table.

Under the fretful gaze of nearly everyone, Kelso settled into place below the smashed and blank DRADIS displays, took a deep breath, then looked across into the clearly concerned expression of Major Tyra Burke.

"Status, Major?"

Watching him, her demeanor clearly unsure, even somewhat dubious, Burke nevertheless slowly slid a clipboard stacked with pages across the plot table to him.

"DC teams have finally gotten a handle on most of the midship fires, sir," began a mildly befuddled Burke as she continued to watch Kelso warily. "Engineering should be able to restore main power once they have a chance to verify that the tylium transfer lines are still intact."

"What about our casualties?" asked Kelso hoarsely as the mental image of the hellish scene in sickbay flashed through his mind.

"Reports are only preliminary, sir, sketchy at best," replied Burke evenly, her expression clearly concerned that Kelso himself might still end up on the list. "With our teams still waiting to enter some of the more damaged sections, it could be hours before we have a final tally."

"Very well," muttered Kelso evenly as he absently began to flip through the pages on the clipboard.

Blinking his eyes, he found it hard to keep his vision focused as he tried to read through the reports.

"Sir," began Burke, slowly making her way around the table beside him. "With all due respect, you need to go back to the infirmary."

"You know, Major, it's an odd thing," began Kelso, looking up at her, the faintest smile creasing his lips. "I'm beginning to think that anyone who preambles a sentence with the phrase 'with all due respect' is really about to say something that is in no way respectful at all."

Looking up at her, he could see that his attempt at humor hadn't so much as made a dent in her concern.

"The infirmary has more than enough wounded to keep them busy for the time being," began Kelso, waving somewhat dismissively as he looked back down at the blurry, hand-written figures on the sheets before him. "They don't have time to worry about a simple headache."

"A headache, sir?" scoffed Burke as she pointed over at the smashed screen lying on the deck. "You had a fraking display screen land on your head."

Looking first at Burke, then over at the screen lying on the deck, then back to Burke, Kelso again smiled.

"That's the screen that hit me?"

Burke simply nodded her head.

Without skipping a beat, Kelso turned, stepped over to the screen, looked down at the smashed display, then gave it a swift kick, sending it skittering across the debris-strewn deck.

"There, now we're even," he muttered as he stepped back over to the plot table.

Off to one side of CIC, someone actually laughed.

Clearly shocked, but at least a little amused, Burke stood there looking at Kelso.

"Have you sent out requests for additional medical and DC teams from the rest of the fleet?" asked Kelso evenly as he looked back over at Burke.

"They started landing about an hour ago, sir," replied Burke, gently shaking her head as she stepped back around to the other side of the plot table.

"Good," sighed Kelso as he reflexively looked up at the blank screens overhead. "We could use all the assistance we can get."

Lightly drumming his fingers on the plot table, Kelso continued to take deep, steadying breaths as he continued to look up at the blank screens.

"Pass the word, to all crew, anyone not involved in DC efforts should be prepared to report to the infirmary," began Kelso as he slowly looked back over to Burke. "We'll need every available body ready to donate blood."

"Aye, sir."

"How long before we have DRADIS back up?" asked Kelso evenly as he pointed up at the blank screens.

"Engineering is still picking up the pieces, but we should have eyes back in under three hours."

"Harris, get on the wireless and verify Runel has his ships in a defensive formation…" began Kelso as he slowly turned and looked over at the comm station.

But Harris wasn't there.

"Where's Harris?" asked Kelso evenly as he looked back over at Burke.

Burke simply shook her head.

Letting out a long breath, Kelso's shoulders sagged a bit.

"I've known her for four years," he muttered, glancing back over at the empty station. "Damn."

Taking another deep breath, Kelso drummed his fingers uncomfortably.

"I've got a line open to the _Enceladus_, sir," offered Lieutenant Cortez.

Looking over, Kelso glanced over at the visibly tired Cortez, then simply nodded.

"Advise Colonel Runel that our DRADIS is down, we'll need him to cover us."

"Colonel Runel has already deployed his ships in a defensive formation, Commander," said Burke evenly. "_Savitri_ and _Proteus_ have both put up a CAP and have birds at the ready if the Cylons jump into range."

Surprised, even pleased, Kelso looked back over at Burke, smiling.

"Very good, Major."

Casting his eyes once more up at the blank screens overhead, Kelso reached up and began massaging the knot forming in his neck. Only after a moment did he realize his hands were covered in dried blood.

Some doubtless from the young woman who'd died…

Some undoubtedly his own…

Looking down at the dry blood on his fingertips, rubbing his fingertips together, some of the dried blood flaking off, Kelso looked back over at Burke.

"I must look a sight," he chuckled as he absently began wiping the dried blood on his pant leg.

"You have looked better, sir," she shrugged. "Shall I have someone escort you back down to the infirmary?"

"In due time," sighed Kelso as he wiped the dried blood on his trouser leg. "Have we had _any_ indications of Cylon pursuit?"

At first, Burke didn't answer.

Groggy as Kelso was, he didn't miss the pause. Glancing back over at Burke, he saw his XO in turn looking over at Lieutenant Cortez.

"What is it, Major?" asked Kelso evenly.

"I was hoping this could wait until after you'd been seen by the Doctor, sir," muttered Burke as she slowly waved Cortez over to the plot table. "We're still compiling the data, and until you've been cleared medically…"

"Cut to the point, Major," sighed Kelso as he glanced over at Cortez stepping up to the plot table. "I'm willing to admit that I'm tired enough, with a _splitting_ headache, and as such in no mood for double-talk."

"There was a problem with the jump, Commander," sighed Cortez, his shoulder drooping a bit.

"A '_problem_'? What kind of '_problem_', Lieutenant?"

Taking a deep breath himself, Lieutenant Cortez slowly unrolled a plot overlay across the table.

"This was our position near Leto's Twins, where our jump originated," began Cortez as he pulled out a grease pencil and pointed at a mark on the overlay. "And this was the position I'd plotted in the Prolmar Sector."

"Okay, I follow you," sighed Kelso as he glanced up at Cortez. "And?"

Now it was Cortez who paused.

Noting the hesitation, Kelso reached up and began gently tapping his temple.

"Remember, Lieutenant; _splitting_ headache," said Kelso evenly. "No time or patience for long routes to the truth."

"This _isn't_ where we ended up, Commander," said Cortez flatly, wincing a bit as he said as much. "We're _not_ where we were supposed to be."

Glancing first over a Burke, then back to Cortez, Kelso slowly lifted his hand up, scoffing for a second as he slowly slid the overlay closer.

"What do you mean we're not where were supposed to be, Lieutenant?"

"We jumped, sir, but we did _not_ jump to the coordinates we were supposed to; we are _not_ in the Prolmar Sector."

"How far off the mark are we?" asked Kelso evenly.

"Far off enough, sir, that we haven't been able to find a single familiar stellar marker…"

His head spinning a bit once again, almost feeling as though he'd been punched in the gut in fact, Kelso leaned in a little over the plot table, a low groan escaping his lips as he looked down at the overlay.

"Where _did_ we jump, Lieutenant; short answer?"

"Short answer?" muttered Cortez, sheepishly playing with the grease pencil between his fingers.

Gently nodding, Kelso looked over at Cortez, his expression the epitome of 'no-nonsense'.

"Short answer, sir; 'I have no idea'."

* * *

******Warstar _Galactica  
_****Command Operations Center  
****Exodus Day 2  
**

Making a slow circle around the large operations plot table, Commander Sean Kelso was flipping through a clipboard full of printouts.

It had been two days since their harried escape from Leto's Twins and the _Galactica_ was more-or-less operational again, though making more extensive repairs would be an ongoing battle for some time to come. But with her own crew putting forth a truly heroic effort to right the damage, as well as the assistance from the other ships in the fleet, the injuries inflicted upon the _Galactica_ had slowly begun to heal.

_Galactica_ was at least fortunate in one regard, with the smelting and fabrication facilities on board the ship would be able to repair much of the damaged sections of her hull and armor given time. Indeed, those facilities could even be used to repair some of the damage to the other ships as well.

But there was one thing that even time would never be able to heal, that was the cost their escape had incurred in lives; two hundred and thirty-seven crewmembers had been lost making good their escape. In addition, there were still over seventy-six people in the infirmary euphemistically listed as touch-and-go. In spite of this, however, Commander Sean Kelso had to concede that the price could have been far worse considering the damage the ship had taken stem-to-stern.

But with most of the ship's major systems back on line, attention throughout the fleet had begun to focus in on one overriding question, one that needed to be answered; what now?

For the last two days, several teams throughout the fleet had been practically glued to long-range optical and wireless telescopes, relentlessly scanning the skies for a star formation, a nebula, something, _anything_ familiar enough to help to determine their position. But the reality was, the farther away from the Colonies a ship went, the less and less familiar the stars began to look.

So far, _nothing_ they saw looked even vaguely familiar. And without a reference point, the likelihood that they'd ever pinpoint their position was almost nil.

The one bright side that most people were beginning to clutch onto out of the whole mess, however, was the fact that the Cylons had yet to reappear.

With a sigh, Commander Sean Kelso gently tossed the clipboard down onto the large plot table with a clatter. Arching his back slightly, he tried to stretch out the knot that was forming, taming the throbbing burn down to merely a low ache.

Leaning in over the plot table, he glanced back down at the clipboard to the uninspiring reports regarding their position.

"I can't even tell if I'm supposed to be pissed or elated at this development," sighed Kelso.

With no one else in the Command Operations Center, Commander Sean Kelso had to concede that speaking to himself out loud seemed a touch odd; probably best to blame it on the injury to his head.

Or…

"Maybe I'm talking to the gods," he muttered, answering out loud his own internal question of just whom he was speaking to.

But in a moment, that particular whimsical thought soured in his mind.

The gods.

Sean Kelso had never been much of a religious man. His world was typically defined in more quantifiable terms; engineering problems, equations; physics, not metaphysics. The few times he'd even talked about matters of faith, and then only when conversationally cornered, he'd often claimed to be an agnostic, his socially palatable answer being that his faith was based on his own life experiences, not the archaic ramblings of some pharmaceutically-addled 'Oracle' eating bugs while huddled in a cave thousands of years ago.

Kelso let out a long, frustrated sigh.

So how did the current situation fit into his 'life experience' explanation? The gods, if they existed, had allowed tens of billions of men, women and children to be vaporized by the Cylons. And yet somehow, in their ethereal 'mercy', they'd allowed his small group to escape.

Divine intervention? Or plain, simple, terrible atheist luck?

Scoffing in little more than mild disgust, Kelso shoved the clipboard, sending it skittering across the tabletop.

"Bad news, I take it?"

Surprised, Sean Kelso looked up to see his father standing in the entryway.

"Dad?" sputtered Sean, feeling like a child who'd been caught doing something naughty. "What are you doing here?"

"You asked all the ship commanders to come over for a collective bitch session, remember?" began Adrian Kelso wryly as he stepped over to the table, picked up the clipboard, and began making his way around to his son's side.

"Meeting's not for another hour," said Sean evenly as he watched his father make his way around the large table.

Stopping in front of son, Adrian Kelso let out a long sigh as he set the clipboard back down on the table.

"I have spent the last two days practically squatting in a Raptor, just waiting for any excuse to get over here," muttered Adrian evenly as he reached out and snatched his son into his arms. "Give your old man a break for wanting to know you're okay."

Returning the embrace, Sean smiled.

"I'm fine, Dad," said Sean as he took a deep breath and glanced over at the clipboard.

"That bandage on your heads says different," replied Adrian evenly as he took a step back and pointed up at the gauze wrapped around his son's head.

"Seven stitches," sighed Sean as he reached up and gently scratched the lump beneath the dressing. "Scar won't even show if I let my hair grow out to medium-regs. As for the MRI, Doc Lefler says it's clear."

"I suppose that means you have a hard head, taking a lump like that so cavalierly," chuckled Adrian.

"According to Mom I inherited it from you," countered Sean evenly as he reached over and gave his father another hug.

"That you did," snickered Adrian as he reached up and wiped a small tear from the corner of his eye. "In any case, I'm just damned glad to see that you're okay."

And so it was, father and son, again reunited, continued to exchange idle chitchat. While little of it would be apparent from the words they spoke, the relief both felt that the other was alive and well was evident in their tone and demeanor with one another.

Before long, the other ship commanders, both military and civilian, began to filter into the large compartment, quickly falling into place around the operations table. But no matter who it was that walked into the room, what did not change was the arrangement of the Kelsos themselves; the father directly beside his son.

Before long, the last two ship CO's, Colonel Thadius Runel and Colonel Brianna Webber arrived. Glancing up at the clock on the wall, Commander Sean Kelso noted silently that they were a couple minutes late. By the way Colonel Webber was hurriedly preening her hair as she fell into place around the table, the Commander was dubiously certain he could guess the reason why; their rekindled relationship was already becoming about the worst kept secret in the fleet.

Nevertheless, with everyone now present, Commander Sean Kelso stepped up to the table and cleared his throat, gently tapping the clipboard on the tabletop to cut through the din of conversations, capturing the collective attention of everyone present.

Looking out at the faces assembled around the table, Commander Kelso took a deep breath.

"Okay, people," he began simply. "What now?"

For a moment, the question simply hung there over the assemblage. Slowly looking to one another, and in turn, the Commander looking out at all of them, the pall of silence was so palatable that were it not for the low rumble of the ship's engines, one might have been able to hear a pin drop.

"Well then, I suppose to get our thoughts moving on the subject, let's just review our situation," said Commander Kelso as he leaned in over the plot table. "For two days now, we've been working to make repairs to _Galactica_, and now that the major systems are back in operation, we face the stark reality that we have remained completely idle during that time. Clearly, we must anticipate that just because the Cylons haven't found us yet doesn't mean that they're likely to just give up their search. So, I ask you again; what now people?"

"If I may, Commander," began Paul Bess as he too leaned in over the plot table. "Before we try and hammer out an idea of where we go from here, it might be helpful if we first are able figure out exactly where 'here' is in the first place."

"Colonel Runel?" prodded Commander Kelso. "Your people have been working that problem, any progress?"

"Much as I hate to say it, Commander, we've had no success as yet," replied Runel evenly as he held up a clipboard he'd brought with him. "Two days scanning the skies with both long-range optical, infra-red and gamma-ray telescopes has yielded no known star configurations or stellar markers within range."

"And without any reference point, we have no way of getting even a generalized fix on our position," interjected Colonel Webber evenly

"All we know with any certainty is that this is _not_ the Prolmar Sector," sighed Adrian Kelso as he absently flipped through some of the pages on the clipboard his son had been reviewing.

"Okay, so if we didn't jump to where we'd intended, and we can't yet figure out where we are, then how did we get here?" asked Captain Jack Foster evenly. "Was there a malfunction in the FTL systems?"

"All FTL systems on every ship were checked," began Mark Shipman, the Sagittaron Depot supervisor commanding the former Assaultstar _Kilkis_. "Checked and _double_ checked. Whatever caused us to jump off-course, it _wasn't_ mechanical."

"And even if it _were_, it wouldn't account for _all_ of our ships jumping this far off course as a group," continued Nakaya Foteva, another Depot Supervisor, now CO of the _Limnos_. "Whatever the cause, it affected all ships simultaneously."

"Lieutenant Cortez has been pouring over all the telemetry data from each ship," began Commander Kelso as he picked up his clipboard. "And frankly, if his theory is correct, we should be counting our blessings, such as they are."

"What's his theory?" asked Adrian evenly as he glanced over his son's shoulder somewhat.

"I won't bore you with the long winded physics of the matter, best to leave that to the physics professors, if there are any left in our fleet," began Commander Kelso evenly as he began running his finger along the text of the report he was looking at. "But it would seem that at the moment we initiated our jump, Leto's Twins flared with an exceptionally high energy burst."

"Just how big an energy burst are we talking about here?" asked Paul Bess.

"Off the charts," replied Sean Kelso evenly as he set the clipboard back down. "Best guess is that this energy burst somehow interacted with our own FTL cores, and for a lack of a more accurate way to describe it, supercharged the effect."

"But if a pulsar flash could cause this kind of a malfunction in an FTL, why has it never popped up before now?" interjected Major Paul Ambrose, CO of the Destroyer _Adroa_.

"Simple answer, no one has ever attempted a jump that close to a pulsar flash before," answered Commander Kelso. "Before now, it was just assumed that a pulsar flash would cause a soliton feedback loop in the FTL core, frying the system and maroon the vessel."

"Besides which, most pulsars flashes are regular, predicable," added Colonel Thadius Runel. "SOP says to time jumps between the energy bursts, and then only if FTL is absolutely necessary. But our escape was hardly SOP."

"That it was _not_," agreed Commander Kelso evenly.

"But if the pulsar did cause us to make some sort of 'super jump'…" began Captain Jack Foster, stopping as Commander Kelso held up his hand.

"Look, we could spend years trying to muddle through the theoretical physics of this," sighed Commander Kelso evenly, grinning a bit. "But frankly, between the mathematics involved and my mild concussion I have too much of a headache to even try right now."

"More to the point; does it really matter?" interjected Adrian Kelso flatly. "Whatever the cause, it happened, we survived and got away; what we need to muddle through is where we go from here."

"Is there any chance the Cylons will be able to track us?" asked Major Kiana Japser, CO of the other Destroyer, _Ikenga_.

"Off hand, I'd have to say no," replied Commander Kelso, one eyebrow raised. "Beyond the normal difficulties of tracking a ship through an FTL, considering that _we_ can't be certain of exactly how we got what apparently is a very significant distance away from the Colonies, the chances that the Cylons would be able to intentionally recreate the exact conditions that brought us here are likely miniscule at best."

"Short story; we managed to escape beyond their grasp," sighed Adrian Kelso softly. "Sounds good to me."

"But to where?" interjected one of the civilian captains.

"Again; does it matter, Tom?" shot back Jack Foster. "Let's be clear here, we all understood that we were leaving the Colonies for good, didn't we?"

"There's a difference between _intending_ to leave the Colonies behind and _actually_ having the possibility of returning forever cut off," countered Colonel Brianna Webber evenly. "However we go about moving ahead, we'll have to keep in mind the impact of that fact, especially for the civilians in our care."

For a moment, Webber's statement hung over the assemblage.

Through it all, though, everyone kept looking to Commander Sean Kelso.

As he stood there, the focus of everyone's attention, Sean Kelso glanced over at his father and read something in the elder man's eyes.

No matter what, the Commander has to have an answer…

Turning back to the others, Commander Sean Kelso took a deep, steadying breath.

"So the facts as expressed are these," he began evenly. "We escaped; how and to where, we don't have a way of knowing for now. The chances that the Cylons will find us at this point; likely somewhere close to zero. As any of these facts relate directly to our current situation; not one bit."

Taking another deep breath, Commander Kelso straightened back up and gave his uniform tunic a curt tug.

"Circumstances may have changed, but our overriding imperative has not," he continued, looking around at each of the faces assembled around the table. "Our one duty is to do everything to ensure the long term survival of the civilians in this fleet, of our society and of the human race itself. Everything else, all the theories and what-ifs, they can wait until the more practical concerns of food, water and supplies are taken care of."

With that, several of the heads around the table began to nod gently in agreement.

"So, here's the agenda as I see it," began Commander Kelso as he pulled a pen from his pocket, took one of the printouts off the clipboard and flipped it over. "Priority one; defense. We need to redistribute all the fighters and pilots in this fleet in order to operate more effectively. Some ships are also still heavy on crew, others could use those extra bodies, so we'll also need to redistribute our manpower a bit to make sure everyone has the personnel they need to keep things running as smoothly as possible."

As he spoke, Commander Kelso began making several shorthand notes on the blank side of the printout.

"If I may, sir, I do have a suggestion on that point," began Colonel Webber. "In speaking with my CAG, she suggested it might go a long way towards streamlining logistics and repair if we try and make the air wings more homogenous."

"I and my own CAG also concur, sir," offered Major Tyle.

"What exactly did they have in mind?" asked Commander Kelso as he paused in his note taking.

"Well, sir, it's been suggested that we ought to transfer most of the older Vipers over here and try and limit the _Savitri_ and _Proteus_ to operating only the Mark Sevens," stated Colonel Webber evenly.

"Major Culver might have some objections with having his fighter wing saddled with the older birds," countered Commander Kelso, smirking a bit. "I hope this isn't just some attempt to placate the egos of your pilots because they're not as happy flying some of the older ships."

"No, sir," replied Colonel Webber evenly. "_Savitri_ simply doesn't have as extensive an AIMD for performing repair work on so many different models."

"Our equipment on _Proteus_ is even less capable of servicing the older planes, sir," interjected Major Tyle. "Eventually we could find ourselves dead-lining planes for lack of parts."

"But _Galactica_ does have the equipment for milling new components," muttered Commander Kelso, gently tapping the pen against the table top. "We could simply manufacture them here and then transfer them as needed."

"It's still an extra step we could remove from the process, sir," countered Colonel Webber evenly.

Pausing, Commander Kelso mulled over the suggestion for a moment.

"Well, I'm not going to make an arbitrary decision about that for right now," he finally said. "But, I think we should go ahead and have our CAG's get together for a heart-to-heart on the matter; we'll let them hammer it out since it's there pilots and service personnel that are going to have to deal with the consequences."

"Understood, Commander," replied Colonel Webber evenly.

"Aye, sir," nodded Major Tyle dutifully a moment later.

"Okay, next order of business?" asked Commander Kelso evenly as he looked back out at the assemblage.

"If I may, I think our next priority after personnel transfers should be to redistribute some of the civilians as well," offered Adrian Kelso evenly. "Some of our people are packed in pretty tight. Would go a long way towards salvaging morale if we get everyone a little more breathing room, or at least a bunk under each and every person we can."

"Agreed," nodded Commander Kelso as he made another annotation.

"Third priority should be a complete inventory of our supplies," continued Colonel Runel. "Food, water, fuel. After that we should look into setting up some sort of ration system to make them stretch."

"Rationing might not go over very well with the civilians," muttered Major Ambrose evenly.

"Perhaps not," interjected Paul Bess, a wry grin on his face. "But I'd imagine it would go over far worse if our ships went dead in the water for lack of fuel, or everyone starved to death for lack of food."

"You _do_ have a point there," conceded Ambrose, nodding slightly.

As he finished making the quick annotations on the page, Commander Sean Kelso set the pen down, feeling nonetheless energized, feeling at least some sense of purpose. Any plan was better than no plan.

"Once we've taken care of the concrete issues, we can start looking again at the theoretical problems," began Commander Kelso as he looked back out at the assemblage. "Is there anything else anyone would like to bring up?"

Looking to each person, Commander Kelso only received several negative gestures in response.

"Very well," he sighed, grinning slightly. "Let's get back to work, people."

* * *

******Battlecruiser _Enceladus  
_****Exodus Day 87  
**

"You really are a son-of-bitch," snapped Colonel Brianna Webber as she kicked her bare feet angrily over the edge of the bunk. "Where the frak is my uniform?"

As she sat on the edge of the bed, fuming, her eyes darting about, searching the clothes-strewn floor for her uniform, Colonel Thadius Runel reached over and ran his fingers along the warm skin at the small of Webber's back.

"Don't you fraking touch me," she barked, not looking back as she reached down and snatched up her underwear.

"That's not what you were saying five minutes ago," chuckled Runel as he continued to run his fingers across her skin, following the line of her spine.

"Stop!" snapped Webber, lashing out with her hand, smacking his fingers away

As Runel slowly lay back down onto his pillow, Webber reached over, snatched up the bed sheet, pulling it up around her shoulders as she resumed her fumbling attempt to put her feet through her underwear. Snorting in frustration, about half way up her legs, she realized she was about to put her underwear on backwards, the sheet falling back away from her shoulders as she fumbled still more, correcting the error.

"This was a mistake," she muttered angrily as she slid the underwear up over her hips.

"At least you realized it before you had them all the way up," smiled Runel as he lay there smirking, hands clasped behind his head.

Shaking her head, Webber continued to look for the rest of her uniform, snatching up her trousers. As she began pulling them onto her legs, Webber caught sight of her bra, snatching it up as well, fastening it into place before resuming her efforts with her trousers.

Letting out a long sigh, Runel looked over, reaching out once more to caress the small of her back.

"Brie," he sighed. "_Please_, don't go."

In spite of her fuming anger, Brianna Webber paused, her eyes closing at the frankly arousing touch of his fingers.

"You can be so difficult sometimes," she muttered as she glanced back over at him.

"True, but it doesn't mean I don't care about you," replied Runel softly as he reached over and gently pulled her closer to him.

As his hand slid up along the curve of her neck, pulling her lips to his in a soft kiss, Webber only put up the meekest of resistance. With the kiss growing deeper, more longing, Runel ran his fingers up through her long brunette hair.

"I love you, Brie," he muttered softly when their lips parted, looking deeply into her eyes as his fingers continued to caress her hair.

"_Love_ was never the problem, Thadius," sighed Webber as she enjoyed the feel of his fingers along the nape of her neck. "But I need to know where _this_ is going."

"Who says it has to go anywhere?" sighed Runel as he again leaned back against his pillow.

"Answered like a typical man," muttered Webber as she slowly turned back and again set about pulling her trousers up her legs.

"Okay then," began Runel evenly. "How about _this_ for an answer?"

"How's _what_ for an answer?" sighed Webber as she turned back around…

…And saw Runel lying there with a ring perched between his fingers.

Stunned, Webber simply sat there speechless, looking first to the ring, then over at Runel.

Shaking herself from her stupor, Webber slowly reached out, as if afraid to touch the ring.

"Where did you get that?" she asked, withdrawing her hand.

"I picked it up on Gemenon," began Runel, himself looking at the ring for a moment.

"Gemenon, how's that possible…" began Webber, stammering a bit.

"I picked it up before the trip," he replied, looking back over to her. "Our _last_ trip together, as it turned out. You walked out on me the next day."

"I didn't _walk out_ on you," began Webber, her anger roiling up a bit. "You gave me plenty of reasons to break off our relationship, and you know it."

Taking a deep breath, Runel held the ring up a little higher.

"Maybe I did," he sighed gently fiddling with the ring between his fingers. "Nevertheless, the question still stands, Brie; will you marry me?"

"Do you mean to tell me you bought this ring _three years ago_ and have been holding onto it all this time?" muttered Webber, somewhat avoiding looking directly at the ring.

"I _did_, and I _have_," replied Runel, grinning a bit.

Silent, Bianna Webber looked first at Runel, then finally again at the ring.

"And what do you think the Commander will think of two of his frontline CO's getting married?" asked Webber evenly.

"You could resign your commission," shrugged Runel, his fingers still holding the ring provocatively within Webber's gaze.

"_You_ could resign _yours_," shot back Webber defensively.

"You're stalling, Brie," countered Runel flatly.

"But the question still stands; what's Commander Kelso going to say?"

"I'm not asking the Commander to marry me, I'm asking _you_," replied Runel pointedly.

Silence.

"Fine," sighed Runel as he leaned back, stretching his hand out towards the handset mounted on the wall beside his bed. "If you're truly so worried, let's go ahead and ask the Commander what he thinks."

"No!" snapped Webber, reaching out, clasping onto his outstretched hand. "We can't let him know we're…_involved_… with one another."

"If the rumor mill is as efficient as it normally is aboard a warship, I'm sure he _already_ knows, Brie," chuckled Runel as he dropped his hand away from the handset. "Let's face it, we haven't exactly been discreet."

"Maybe, but…_married_?" muttered Webber weakly as she glanced down at the ring, now resting on top of the sheet.

"In case you haven't noticed, my love, we're kind of making things up on the fly out here," began Runel as he gently picked the ring back up, cradling it for a moment. "The Commander _might_ object, but somehow I doubt he will; we all have to start rebuilding our lives, and we can't do that by following a rigid set of rules written by grumpy old Admirals who never foresaw a situation like this."

As she watched Runel cradle the ring in his hand, Brianna Webber felt her heart racing.

"Are you saying you want to rebuild a life with me?" she muttered, her voice choked.

Looking up at her, Runel smiled.

"What I'm saying, _Colonel Webber_, is that you _are_ my life," he said, once more taking the ring in his fingers. "And I am asking you; will you marry me?"

Stunned, her heart pounding, Brianna Webber sat there as Thadius Runel reached over, took her gently trembling hand in his, and slowly slid the ring into place on her finger.

"Don't frak with me on this, Thadius," warned Brianna weakly, shaking her head slightly as a tear rolled down her cheek, her own fingers beginning to gently play with the ring on her finger.

"Is that a 'yes'?"

Looking up into his face, Brianna Webber practically tackled Runel back onto the bed, her lips hungrily meeting his as she pressed her body against him.

"Is _that_ a yes?" he gasped when their lips finally parted.

"Ask me again in the morning," whispered Brianna as she once more pressed herself against him.

* * *

******Warstar _Galactica  
_****Commander's Quarters  
**

Cradling the neat shot of ambrosia in his hand, Commander Sean Kelso let out a long sigh as he leaned back in his chair and kicked his feet up, gently bringing them to rest on an open desk drawer.

"So, do you plan to officiate?" muttered Adrian Kelso as he too settled back into another chair opposite his son, his own shot cradled in hand.

"What, _me_, no…" replied Sean Kelso evenly as he tossed the shot back in a single gulp. "There's a priest or two left in the fleet who can take care of _that_."

"And what if they _ask_ you to officiate?"

"I would _respectfully_ decline," chuckled Sean Kelso as he began played his finger in the residue at the bottom of the shot glass. "I've got a full docket of responsibilities to deal with already."

"So counting the esteemed Colonels, how many weddings do we have planned now?" asked Adrian, a moment before he tossed back his own shot of ambrosia.

"Are you suggesting that we're somehow keeping track of people's personal lives now, Dad?" asked Sean, grinning a bit.

"Not at all; such a thing might be considered an invasion of privacy," chuckled Adrian as he reached over and set his empty glass down on the desktop. "So, how many?"

Glancing up at his father, Sean slowly reached over, pulled open another drawer, picked up a small notepad, and held it up.

"Counting the pending nuptials of Thadius Runel and Brianna Webber," began Sean, clearing his throat a bit. "That makes five weddings total, _twelve_ more still pending."

"Not that we're keeping track," chuckled Adrian as he leaned back in his chair.

Tossing the notepad down onto the desk, Sean too leaned back.

"Add in eight births, about two dozen pregnancies…"

"That we know of," offered Adrian with a grin.

"That we know of," corrected Sean with a slight nod. "One might get the impression that our race has a chance at rebuilding after all."

"Not bad for being only three months out from the apocalypse," muttered Adrian as he reached over and gave his empty glass a suggestive nudge.

"And best of all," began Sean as he pulled the bottle back out and gently refilled both glasses. "No fraking Cylons."

"I'll drink to that," replied Adrian as he picked up the refill, clinked the glass with his son's and slammed it back with gusto.

With his stomach all but empty, Adrian very quickly began to feel the intoxicating effect of the ambrosia beginning to numb the edges of his perceptions. Leaning back in his chair, he cradled his empty glass and simply enjoyed the effect. His senses on the verge of giddiness, the elder Kelso looked across the desk at his son.

"And what about you?" he said flatly.

"What about me, what?" muttered Sean.

"Do _you_ have any plans on settling down?"

Breaking down into laughter, Sean tossed back his second shot, coughed a bit, then reached out and set the empty glass down on the desk.

"And who exactly am I supposed to settle down with, Dad?" continued Sean, still chuckling as he leaned back, clasping his hands behind his head as he looked up at the ceiling tiles.

"As I recall, your XO has one hell-of-a fine set of curves."

Looking back over at his somewhat smirking father, Sean had half a moment where he wasn't sure if the elder Kelso was kidding or not.

"Major _Burke_?"

Adrian nodded.

"Major _Tyra_ Burke?" sputtered Sean, almost losing his balance as he leaned forward a bit. "You're not serious, are you?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" countered Adrian. "She's a damned fine woman."

"Only in an old man's fantasy, maybe," scoffed Sean dismissively. "And while I realize you _are_ an old man, she shouldn't be in _your_ fantasies."

"Too creepy?"

"Way too creepy; what would Mom say?"

Chuckling slightly, Adrian settled back into his chair.

"Your mother would have agreed with me," replied Adrian, smirking slightly.

"That's even creepier," shuddered Sean, chuckling a moment later.

"You know, when I first met your mother, she wouldn't have given me the time of day if I'd paid her," began Adrian wistfully. "Took a bit of time to wear down that tough exterior, but once I did, I couldn't have imagined my life without her."

Letting out a deep sigh, Adrian half-wondered whether he was getting a bit too intoxicated, empty stomach considering.

"Maybe not Dad, but you are forgetting one detail," sighed Sean as he cast his eyes back towards the ceiling tiles. "Mom _wasn't_ your XO."

"So you admit you find Major Burke attractive."

Trapped.

His father had laid a trap, and he'd stepped right into it.

"She's my XO, period, end of story," replied Sean flatly. "To put it in perspective, as much as you've talked about her, would you have ever considered dating Dani Cole?"

"Dani Cole was a fine woman," muttered Adrian as he slowly closed his eyes and drifted in his light intoxication. "But you, my son, are avoiding the issue."

"What issue?" chuckled Sean, silently noting his father's own evasion. "Tyra Burke, even _if_ she was interested, big 'if' by the way, she just isn't my type."

"And what type is that, exactly?"

For a moment, Sean merely chuckled.

"Ok, what about Captain Gaines then?" asked Adrian simply, his smirk still very much present. "I understand the two of you have begun seeing a lot of each other."

"Only in an official capacity; she's the senior-most surviving Marine officer we have left," replied Sean evenly. "With only a token number of actual cops aboard this fleet, the detachments are acting as much to keep the peace alongside them as anything else these days and that means a lot of reports she has to pass on."

"A lot of late nights then I take it?" grinned Adrian, his smirk becoming little short of a leer. "Working hand-in-hand, pouring over security reports to make sure the people are behaving themselves."

"It's just business, Dad," sighed Sean, shaking his head dismissively. "And I don't mind saying that this is about the most _awkward_ topic of conversation for a son to have with his father."

With that, both broke back down into laughter.

"I suppose so," laughed Adrian as he gently closed his eyes, once again savoring the slight numbing of his senses from the ambrosia. "But I'm a father first, have to make sure I have the chance to see my grandchildren before I die."

"Well as soon as I find a 'broodmare' worthy enough to carry on your genetic legacy, I'll be sure to let you know," chuckled Sean.

* * *

******Warstar _Galactica  
_****Exodus Day 183  
**

Deftly dodging to one side of the corridor, Commander Sean Kelso was gulping in heavy breaths as he rounded the corner. Mustering himself, he quickly sprinted up the small rise of stairs.

"Make a hole," he called through heavy breath.

In response, the trio of crewmembers blocking his path stepped aside to allow the Commander to pass as he rounded yet another corner into a long corridor.

His path clear and straight, Kelso quickened his pace to a flat-out sprint.

With sweat pouring down his face, Kelso glanced up in time to catch the highlighted location marker on the bulkhead. With a grin of satisfaction, he slowed himself to a walk, taking in deep, gulping breaths. In his chest, Kelso's heart was pounding so hard it felt as though it would burst through his chest, but in spite of his admitted exhaustion, the Commander felt a twinge of pride.

Five kilometers.

Prior to their escape from the Colonies, Commander Sean Kelso doubted he would have been able to make five kilometers at a slow jogging pace with anything less than an entire division of Cylon Centurions chasing him.

But now, six months and over forty pounds later, Commander Sean Kelso felt a rush of accomplishment.

As he continued to wrestle back control over his breathing, the Commander looked back in time to see Marine Captain Jordan Gaines vault up the small flight of stairs at the end of the straightaway. Sprinting the last couple of meters, Gaines also slowed to a walk as she passed the marker on the bulkhead, gently shaking her head as she looked over at him.

"Didn't expect you to break into that last sprint there, Commander," muttered Gaines as she stepped up next to him.

"_You_ didn't expect it?" smiled Kelso as he continued to wrestle back control over his breathing. "_I'm_ surprised I didn't keel over from a massive coronary."

Chuckling slightly, Gaines slowly began stretching her back as she stood there in her workout attire.

"You keep this up, sir, there won't be enough thread left in the fleet to keep taking in your uniform," muttered Gaines evenly as she gave Kelso's stomach a gentle tap. "It was a good run, though."

Nodding his head slightly, Kelso set off along the corridor to walk off his still-racing pulse.

In truth, while these almost daily exercise runs with Captain Gaines had gone a long way towards slimming his profile, the strict rationing of food implemented throughout the fleet had just as much to do with his frankly drastic drop in weight. Food, like fuel, uniforms, and yes, thread, were in short supply considering it was being stretched thin to support over fifty-two thousand people.

In very real terms, a few caches of supplies aside, everyone in the fleet had escaped with literally not much more than the clothes on their backs. And while the salvage work from the lost Battlestars and their resupply at Torvik Anchorage had replenished much in the way of ammo and military stores, even some uniform and clothing items, in the grand scheme of military planning, the lesser consumables and sundries had been lost in the shuffle.

Continuing along the corridor with Gaines just a pace behind, Kelso rounded a small corner and caught sight of a Marine standing guard outside a service entryway.

"Shall we stop in and check on the progress?" asked Kelso evenly as he reached up and wiped away the sweat pouring down his cheek.

"Sounds good to me, Commander," smiled Gaines as she gestured for the Kelso to lead the way.

As the two of them stepped up to the entryway, the Marine standing guard outside quickly unsecured the latch and opened the hatch.

Stepping in through the entryway, Gaines and Kelso felt the distinct change as they went from walking on the unyielding metal deck of the passageway to the comparatively soft feel of soil inside the compartment.

Prior to their fleet's escape from the Colonies, this compartment had been just one of many unremarkable storage areas scattered throughout the massive ship. But as the realities of food rationing began to inspire innovation, a few minds had gotten together and concocted a rather enlightened solution to their long-term need for provisions and suggested the establishment of gardens in some of the unused sections aboard each of the ships in the fleet.

It was a straightforward idea, almost brilliant in its simplicity. But, turning it into a practical reality had almost proven a logistical nightmare.

Once it was decided to go ahead with the project, it had taken some time for Raptor scouts to locate a star system with a planetary body bearing anything approaching usable soil. While they were lucky enough to finally find a moon containing fine enough soil for them to avoid the hassle of spending untold man-hours pulverizing rocks into dirt, a new problem arose; the moon from which they'd harvested the soil had no atmosphere.

No atmosphere meant soil with no inherent nutrients for plant growth; it was just plain, dead dirt.

The solution, one it took Commander Kelso and many of the other ship commanders time to wholly accept, was to divert an amount of raw sewage and food wastes into the dead soil. Mulching the organic waste into the dirt had gone a long way towards making it suitable for growing fruits and vegetables, but the endeavor had imbued the areas with a rather unpleasant odor for a time.

Once the doctors had performed their analyses, certifying that the wastes had not opened up the risk of contamination, next came the painstaking process of saving seeds from various fruits and vegetables and planting them in the new soil. While born of a practical need for food, and at least nominally embraced by the fleet as a whole as a worthwhile endeavor, there were a more dedicated few in the fleet who had grasped onto the project with a near zealous obsession, suppressing the pain of their loss by throwing themselves fully into this new life's work.

And as Commander Sean Kelso and Captain Jordan Gaines made their way further into the compartment, it was hard to find any fault in their dedication.

Running the full breadth of the compartment in dozens of neat rows, seedlings had long since begun to sprout. Carefully, almost lovingly attended to and nurtured, these infant plants had begun to take on an aura of hope all their own. As they continued to grow, pushing further and further up into the air, these gardens offered a respite from the cold, sterile environment of a military vessel to the disheartened people who had already lost so much.

Beyond the dedicated volunteers who tended to the plants themselves, others had begun coming to the gardens, often to do little more than walk amongst the rows upon rows of new life. Some even walked barefoot, carrying their boots, cherishing in some small yet profound way the feel of real soil between their toes. Soon others came as well, new loves and lovers, to walk hand-in-hand, nurturing new affections. But the one common thread binding them all was that simplest need, of a people, refugees fleeing the loss of everything they'd ever known, searching to hold on to a measure of their own humanity, coming to these gardens, returning in some small way to their proverbial roots.

That being the case, it hardly struck Kelso with much surprise that the Marines posted to guard the gardens often did so with as much vigilance and zeal as when they guarded the ship's more restricted areas; these gardens were now hallowed ground.

Pausing halfway along one of the rows, Kelso took in a deep breath, smiling a bit as he savored the truly earthy aroma filling the space.

"You know, it does leave me wondering," muttered Gaines as she too took in a deep breath.

"What's that?" asked Kelso as he caught site of a couple enjoying a tender kiss at the far end of the compartment.

"The plants," continued Gaines as she slowly kneeled down and ran her fingers gently along a couple of budding leaves. "When these finally flower, how do they plan on pollinating them?"

"Not much in the way of insects aboard, is there?" smiled Kelso as he looked down at her. "I suppose they'll use cotton swabs or some such thing to breed them."

"Artificial _sex_, huh?" chuckled Gaines, glancing up at him. "That doesn't sound like much fun."

For some reason, the comment caused Kelso's heart to skip a beat.

What had she said?

As she continued to smile at him somewhat coyly, Gaines stood back up and once again began making her way along the row. Taking a deep breath, Kelso continued to follow closely behind Gaines. With a couple they'd seen kissing passionately on the far side of the compartment now making their way hand-in-hand back the opposite direction, Kelso became somewhat more acutely aware that most of the other people in the garden were likewise coupled off. The idea that these gardens were somehow becoming tantamount to a lover's lane suddenly left him feeling decidedly awkward, churning with a sense that he somehow didn't belong, or was perhaps intruding on so much budding intimacy.

Nevertheless, doing his best not to stare, he did in fact count at least a dozen pairs before he forced himself to look nonchalantly down at his feet, gently kicked the soil as he moved.

Glancing up, he just barely caught sight of Gaines, once again looking back over at him with that same coy smile.

Was she…_flirting_ with him?

Looking back down at his feet again, Kelso gently shook his head.

No, he _had_ to be imagining it.

Before long, Kelso and Gaines had completed a full circuit through the garden rows and were slowly making their way back to the entryway.

"I almost hate this part," groaned Gaines as she gently pushed the hatch open.

"Me, too," sighed Kelso as he continued to follow her.

With each pausing a moment to kick some of the loose dirt off their shoes, the two of them stepped back into the utilitarian corridor.

In contrast to the garden, the corridor suddenly felt gloomy.

As the two of them set off along the corridor, Commander Sean Kelso felt a rush of embarrassment when he realized he'd begun to pay just a little too much attention to the admittedly shapely Gaines as she walked barely a full stride in front of him.

Her legs…

Her thighs…

"Something on your mind, Commander?" asked Gaines, glancing over her shoulder at him. "You seem awfully…_preoccupied_."

If he'd felt embarrassed before, now he felt downright mortified.

She'd caught him; glancing back over her shoulder, she'd seen where his attention had been focused.

He opened his mouth, stammering a few unintelligible syllables, but quickly shut up.

Gaines simply seemed to grin as she continued her way along the corridor.

For his part, Kelso just tried to regain some measure of composure.

But it wasn't easy.

Gaines didn't seem to want to make it easy for him either.

He couldn't be sure, he wasn't even sure he wanted to be sure, but when Gaines noted his attention, that coy smile seemed to widen a bit, and he could swear she had begun moving her hips a little more, ever so slightly, almost enticingly.

Blushing once more, Commander Sean Kelso forced himself not to notice.

As they finally reached the section where Gaines and her Marines were billeted, Gaines turned around and extended a hand to Kelso.

"A pleasure as always, Commander," she said softly.

"Till next time, Captain," replied Kelso evenly as he took hold of her hand.

Now once again, he couldn't be sure, he wasn't even sure he wanted to be sure, but it almost seemed as though Gaines held onto his hand a bit longer than usual, her soft fingers gently playing across his palm as she slowly pulled away.

With that same coy smile, she turned and opened the hatch.

"Just so you know, sir," she began, casually looking back over at him. "I spoke with Chief Copeland; she'll be setting me up in my own quarters by the end of the week."

"Tired bunking in the barracks?"

"A little," she smiled. "No privacy in here; kinda miss the freedom of being able to walk around naked after a shower."

With that, she cast him yet another coy glance, stepped through the hatch and closed it.

Now alone in the corridor, Kelso felt almost as stunned as when that screen had bounced off his skull.

He felt…

"Oh, gods dammit," he muttered to himself as he turned and began making his way along the corridor.

Shaking his head, Commander Sean Kelso quickened his pace, intent of making his way back to his quarters for a shower.

A very _cold_ shower.

* * *

******Warstar _Galactica  
_****Command Operations Center  
**

"And this is why I think we need to start reorganizing some sort of civilian government," sighed Commander Sean Kelso evenly as he gently massaged the bridge of his nose. "If they aren't willing to trust what we say at face value anymore, maybe they'll believe it from representatives they themselves elect."

"Doubtful," chuckled Paul Bess as he leaned forward onto the large operations table. "Even in deep space, a politician is a politician."

"You'll get no argument from me on that point," grinned Commander Kelso as he looked back out at the assemblage around the table. "Nevertheless, we need to get a better handle on this before it becomes an even bigger issue."

"Be it direct from us or from some ad hoc quorum selected by the people, facts are facts," began Adrian Kelso as he slowly stretched his back. "Finite resources are called 'finite' for a reason; eventually they run out."

"Fuel is manageable, at least for now," continued Commander Kelso evenly as he picked up the stack of papers lying in front of him. "But before long we will need to start sending out Raptors to hunt down some new sources of raw tylium; if we can find some, we have facilities aboard _Galactica_ that can refine it."

"Well, so far our water supplies are holding out pretty well," continued Colonel Runel. "Between the supplies we were carrying and the few moons and comets we've stumbled across we've been able to keep the taps flowing, even with the liners tankering off of us."

"Food is the one thing that is going to remain problematic," finished Paul Bess. "Even with the gardens we've managed to plant aboard each of the larger ships, and those not likely to produce any appreciable foodstuffs for several weeks, if not months, our most optimistic projections say that in a little over fourteen months, fifty-two thousand people will begin to starve to death."

"I don't see how we can stretch the food stores any further," sighed Major Lefler as she gently cracked her knuckles. "As it is, the only people receiving even half-rations are pregnant women and children; everyone else is already starting to show the earliest signs of malnutrition."

"Won't be too long before we see women getting pregnant just for the extra food," muttered Major Paul Ambrose.

"There's an enlightened perspective," scoffed Major Kiana Jasper as she glared over at Ambrose.

"No, much as I hate saying it, he may be right," countered Lefler. "True, there's nothing definitive linking one to the other, but there has been a distinct spike in pregnancies over the last two months since we implemented the new rationing scheme."

"Fraking for more food; _there's_ a lovely thought," muttered Mark Shipman derisively.

"Well, between the extra rations and the transfer to _Galactica_, stretch marks and swollen feet might seem a small price to pay," offered Paul Bess.

"Speak for yourself, Paul," shot back Foteva as she stretched her arms above her head. "Maybe we should think about implementing some sort of mandatory birth control program."

"That won't go over very well with the Gemenese," sighed Adrian Kelso, shaking his head gently. "Those sects are all about the 'right to life'; birth control and abortion are real hot buttons with them."

"And not something I'm about to start regulating," stated Commander Kelso evenly, pausing a moment as he took a slow, deep breath. "At least, not _yet_. We need options people."

"I'm just not certain there's much more that we _can_ do," sighed Paul Bess. "Other than stumbling across a perfectly hospitable planet with a discount supermarket, what we've got is what we have to work with."

"Well, facts being facts, when we all piled aboard these ships back at Sagittaron we didn't know we'd be facing the possibility of spending the rest of our lives aboard them," muttered Mark Shipman, gently shaking his head as he leaned in over the table.

"All things considered, still better than remaining on the Colonies," sighed Jack Foster, suppressing a yawn as he spoke. "At least out here we have a chance."

"We're not here to second guess the evacuation," said Commander Kelso evenly. "There is no blame, there is simply the question of what we do to ensure the survival of those under our charge."

"Maybe we're looking at this problem from the wrong perspective," offered Adrian Kelso, slowly folding his arms across his chest, his brow furrowing a bit in thought. "As I see it, there is a possibility that we're all tiptoeing around; it's obvious, it's right there in front of us, we just have to be bold enough to seriously consider it."

"You mean permanent settlement," said Colonel Runel flatly.

"That's exactly what I'm suggesting," replied Adrian Kelso.

All around the table, the ship commanders, including Commander Kelso, let out a long sigh.

"Think about it," began Adrian Kelso as he began slowly making his way around the periphery. "For over six months now we've been trolling about out here, more or less waiting for some sign that the Cylons are still in pursuit. So far the only thing that's even come close was the unexploded missile the EOD guys found lodged in the hull plating of _Galactica_."

"We can't ignore the chance that they might still find us," offered Hanna Shepard, one of the other civilian captains.

"A slim chance," countered Colonel Runel. "Even now, we still have no better idea where our jump from Leto's Twins has placed us."

"Exactly," said Adrian as he continued to make his way around the table. "Maybe it's time we changed our focus."

"A habitable planet," muttered Commander Kelso, watching his father move around the group.

"I don't see we have much of a choice," shrugged Adrian as he settled back in beside his son.

"He's right," sighed Colonel Webber evenly. "I mean did we honestly expect to stay aboard these ships indefinitely?"

"Gods, perish the thought," muttered Mark Shipman. "I'd hate to think the last thing I'll see in this life is some gods-forsaken bulkhead."

"There's one thing we'll have to keep in mind, though," continued Colonel Webber. "We could go blind looking through the telescopes and never get the information we need to make an accurate assessment. We need to send out recon Raptors if we're really committed to finding a habitable planet to settle on."

"That will be difficult," noted Colonel Runel. "Fleet tylium reserves are down to sixty percent. All our fuel rationing measures will have to go right out the window if we start sending out large numbers of Raptors."

"All a matter of what we're willing to risk," shrugged Webber.

"Roll the hard-six," offered Paul Bess flatly.

"We're not going to make it without taking some risks," interjected Jack Foster.

"Not a day goes by I don't have my CAG in my office bitching at me in one ear and out the other that his people aren't getting enough by-the-book flight time to remain qualified," interjected Major Tyle, CO of the _Proteus_. "As it is we only have a single CAP up from the _Galactica_, _Savitri_ or _Proteus_ at any one time."

"Then this will be the perfect opportunity to get our pilots some stick time," stated Commander Kelso evenly, gently thumping his fist against the tabletop. "We go with the recon plan. Starting tomorrow, I want the CAG's from all three ships to prepare a flight roster, fifteen Raptors total, five from each deck, around the clock."

"But how will the Raptors be able to navigate through FTL jumps if we haven't been able to pinpoint our location?" asked Foteva. "The charts we're putting together of the local region by telescope are rudimentary at best."

"We'll just have to rely on line-of-sight jumps," replied Commander Kelso evenly. "The fleet will act as the reference point out and back. We'll be able to triangulate our position off the stars locally, that should allow us to conduct operations in this general vicinity."

"Far out enough at least to get some in-depth recon of the local star systems," finished Colonel Runel evenly as Foteva began gently nodding her head. "Even if we don't find a planet right away, we might still be able to locate some supplies."

"Well, I don't know about any of you, but I could use some rack time," said Commander Kelso as he glanced up at the clock on the wall. "If there's nothing else, we'll adjourn for the evening. CAG's can start hammering out the recon plan in the morning."

With that, everyone around the table started gathering up their papers and notes and began filtering out of the room.

As the last of the other ship commanders filtered out into the corridor, Commander Sean Kelso slowly turned to his father, letting out a long exhale.

"I am really beginning to hate these weekly meetings," he said evenly, rubbing his eyes with his palms.

"Price you pay for being the Commander, my son," chuckled Adrian, wincing a bit as be gingerly rubbed the small of his back. "You might want to consider putting some chairs in here though, I'm getting a little too old to stay on my feet for so long."

"Can't," replied Sean lightly. "There's a shortage of chairs."

Chuckling softy, Adrian watched his son gather up his stack of reports. Neatly tucking the pile up under his arm, the two of them began making their way towards the entryway.

"I've been meaning to ask, how's Mike Franklin doing?" asked Sean evenly as the two of them stepped out into the corridor.

"He's managing I suppose," sighed Adrian as the two of them started off down the passageway. "Never easy to lose anyone, and under these circumstances, still worse because we seem to have so few left to lose."

Sean simply nodded.

Unlike so many others, _Pacifica_'s staunch Chief Engineer had managed to escape the destruction of the Colonies not only with his wife, but with both his daughters and two grandsons as well. But that which the gods give, the Fates inevitably take away; Mike Franklin's wife, Joan, had finally succumbed a few days ago to the cancer that had been ravaging her body even before the Cylon attack.

"Wish we had a way of doing more in the way of a funeral; just setting her body adrift in space, seems so _impersonal_," continued Adrian, his voice trailing off as he gently shook his head. "But…"

For a moment, Sean Kelso likewise nodded his head in agreement, even as a twinge of incongruity about the situation crossed his mind.

Burial in space was SOP for military dead, but for a civilian there was an ingrained belief the body should be buried, that it had to have a _place_, a physical location where the family could mourn the loss.

For a few moments, the two of them simply continued on their way, silent, lost in their respective thoughts.

At last, Adrian simply shook his head slightly.

"Look, I hope you don't think I stepped on your toes back there," began Adrian, clearing his throat a bit. "Suggesting settlement and all…"

"No, you're absolutely right," sighed Sean as he absently readjusted the pile under his arm. "We've all been thinking it, it needed to be said, all you did was actually say it. Besides, like you said, we don't have much of a choice. Too many good people have already died getting us this far, I'll be damned if we're going to go out with a whimper with our food and fuel exhausted."

With that, Sean reached up, rubbing his tired eyes again as they continued on along the corridor.

"All we have to do now is avoid getting tunnel vision," sighed Adrian.

"What do you mean?"

"Runel was right, we can't count on stumbling across a habitable planet in the near future," began Adrian evenly. "But we might just be able to find some more fixes to our supply problems while we're searching. Tylium supplies, water…"

"_Food_ is the biggest hurdle to our survival right now," sighed Sean.

"If we get creative, I think there's still plenty of room for the establishment of more gardens," replied Adrian evenly.

"Where exactly?"

"Well, both _Pacifica_ and _Asterica_ have a lot of hangar deck space," offered Adrian. "We'll have to tighten up some of the living areas a bit, but if we open up some space on the flight pods, we could probably double the output of the gardens."

"From Battlestar to breadbasket," chuckled Sean. "I doubt the engineers who designed them ever considered _that_ possibility."

"Just try to have a little faith, Sean," continued Adrian, reaching out and grasping his son's shoulder. "Sometimes all we can do is trust the gods…"

"Whoa, wait right there," sputtered Sean, stopping midstride in the corridor as he turned to face his father. "Faith didn't do us a whole lot of good when the Cylons came back. More to the point, since when did _you_ become so religious; Mom rarely ever got you to go to Temple."

Smiling a bit, Adrian's expression became almost sheepish.

"Let's just say I've had a few reasons as of late to _reexamine_ my faith," he replied evenly.

"Care to elaborate on those reasons?"

"When the time is right, I will, but for now, go get some rest; you have a fleet to run."

Taking a deep breath, Sean looked at his father, certain there was more to this subtle 'reexamining' than Adrian was letting on. But the elder Kelso was correct, Commander Sean Kelso had a fleet to run, and he couldn't do that fatigued.

"You want me to walk you to your Raptor?"

"I think I can find my way, son," chuckled Adrian as he reached out and gave his son a quick hug.

Pausing just long enough to look his son in the eye for one more moment, Adrian Kelso then turned and began making his way off along the corridor towards the flight pod.

"Why do I still feel like you have something you're not telling me?" called Sean as he watched his father walk away.

"Why are you worrying about it?" replied Adrian simply, not turning back as he continued on his way. "Don't you have enough on your plate already?"

"I just don't want any more surprises," said Sean evenly as he watched his father disappear around a corner at the far end of the corridor.

With his father now gone, Kelso stood there for a moment longer, gently tapping his fingers on the stack of papers tucked under his arm. Taking a deep breath, he then turned and began making his way towards his quarters.

As he moved, he casually pulled the stack out from under his arm and began leafing through the sheets.

"Please, gods, no more surprises."


	11. Part 10 - Beacon in the Night

**Raptor Four-Two-Seven  
****Recon Mission  
**

"Would you _please_ shut the frak up already," sighed Lieutenant Alan Banner as he slowly brought the nose of the Raptor around. "Gods, at least we're getting some flight time."

"_You_ are getting the flight time," countered Lieutenant Rick Kitridge as he reached over and began adjusting some of the controls on the ECO panel. "I'm just back here flying the dummy seat."

"Would you just start your DRADIS sweep already," sighed Banner as he glanced over his shoulder back at Kitridge.

"Third jump within this system and still nothing," muttered Kitridge as he continued flipping switches on the panel. "You really think we'll find something with this sweep?"

"I'm not about to hold my breath, but we won't know unless we try," shrugged Banner as he looked out past the canopy. "At least we've been able to get off the _Proteus_ for a little while."

"So say we all to that, my friend," grinned Kitridge as the first data from the DRADIS sweep began to filter across the screen. "Six months of sitting aboard that old bucket, I can see why Fleet was ready to retire her. Ok, beginning third survey sweep, and, what a surprise, nothing significant."

"Okay, so there's nothing 'significant', but what _is_ out there?"

"We have a gas giant, makes two for this system," sighed Kitridge as the data continued to stream across the screen. "Looks like five, no, make that _six_ moons. One has an abundance of surface glaciers, but there's a high methane signature."

"Makes for poor drinking water," muttered Banner as he too saw the data on his own screen. "Go ahead and mark it down anyway for our report…"

Just then, a low alarm began emanating from the ECO panel.

"What now?" groaned Kitridge as he leaned in a little closer. "Whoa, wait, this _is_ worth noting."

"My panel shows nothing," said Banner as he reflexively looked out past the canopy. "What have you got?"

"One hell-of-an anomalous radiological signature."

Glancing over his shoulder, straining a bit, Banner looked over at Kitridge as the ECO continued to pour over the data streaming across his screen.

"What do you mean 'anomalous'?" asked Banner evenly.

"Not sure yet," replied Kitridge as he continued to focus the DRADIS in. "I'm sending the data up to you."

Looking down at his own display, Banner's brow furrowed a bit as he too began reading over the data.

"Could be the remnant of a solar flare," offered Banner.

"I doubt it," replied Kitridge, gently shaking his head. "Our sweep along the inner system didn't show any signs of flare activity. Even if it were, between the solar winds being put out by that class K star and the gravity of the gas giants, it should be more diffuse if it were just a flare."

"You're right, it's too localized," muttered Banner as the data continued to stream across his display. "What about an asteroid collision?"

"Again, I doubt it," sighed Kitridge. "The asteroid belt is pretty far out within this system and our survey didn't show much in the way of radioactive isotopes in those rocks, certainly not enough to account for a signature this large."

"Comet impact with the gas giant itself?"

"Now you're just throwing out random theories," smiled Kitridge.

"Okay, what do _you_ think it is?"

"As impossible as it sounds, it looks like the after-image of a thermonuclear detonation."

With his heart skipping a few beats, Banner kept his attention on the data scrolling before him.

Damned if Kitridge wasn't right.

"What do you think?" asked Kitridge simply.

"Much as I wish you were wrong, I have to agree," muttered Banner.

"Hard to tell what the yield might have been," sighed Kitridge. "This could have been one big blast or a series of several smaller ones."

"Either way, we may have a _big_ problem," said Banner as he leaned back into his flight seat, his fingers flexing nervously around the control stick.

"What, Cylons?"

"You see the problem."

"Well, DRADIS is clear otherwise, no signs of enemy ships anywhere in range," said Kitridge evenly.

"For now."

Looking back down at the DRADIS data on his own screen, Banner thought he saw something in the data, something about as unexpected as the radiation signature itself.

"Hey, check DRADIS," snapped Banner.

"Okay, what am I checking it for, exactly?" asked Kitridge as he once again leaned in towards the ECO panel.

"Is it me, or are you picking up debris within the radiation field?"

"Frak me, I think you're right," muttered Kitridge. "From the refractory signature, a hell-of-a lot of debris, too. Well, what do you suggest?"

"Much as I hate to say it, we should probably take a closer look," sighed Banner, shaking his head slightly. "If it _is_ the Cylons then it'd be a good idea to have more data to hand over when we return to the fleet."

"Might be a good idea to try and figure out what it was they were shooting at, too," offered Kitridge.

Taking a deep breath, Banner reached up and began slowly tightening the retention straps draped over his shoulders.

"Alright, we take a look," he sighed as he brought the nose of the Raptor around. "Just be ready to jump us out at the first sign of trouble; last thing I want is to have to explain to CAG why our bird got shot up."

* * *

******Warstar _Galactica  
_****Combat Information Center  
**

"Nine birds have checked back in so far, Commander," began Major Tyra Burke as she gently slid a report printout across the plot table. "So far we have two moons with possible potable water sources and an asteroid belt showing traces of tylium."

"Better than nothing, I suppose," muttered Commander Sean Kelso as he picked up the report and skimmed over the text. "How many birds do we still have aloft?"

"Six more," replied Burke as she reached up and brushed an errant lock of hair away from her eyes. "Mission profile has them scouting out the furthest, so we're not expecting them back for at least an hour."

"Very well," sighed Kelso as he looked up from the page.

As he stood looking across the plot table at Burke, Kelso watched as the Major once again tried to brush an errant lock over hair back behind her ear, her expression slightly annoyed.

And then he realized…

"Major, can't help but notice you're wearing your hair differently," he smiled.

Burke's face immediately took on an almost embarrassed expression.

"Oh, yes sir," she stammered as she gave the errant lock one last, firm brush back behind her ear. "It's still within regulation sir, thought I'd try something a little different, but if the Commander would prefer…"

"No, no, it's fine, Major," chuckled Kelso, waving his hand somewhat dismissively. "It's just, six months now, I never thought I'd never see you without that regulation bun."

As the Major stood there, smiling weakly, she seemed genuinely embarrassed by the attention. For his part, Kelso simply returned his attention to the report lying on the plot table.

"If I may sir, since you brought it up, I do have a question," muttered Burke, lowering her voice a bit as she leaned in over the plot table.

Looking back up from the report, Kelso smiled a bit.

"What is it, Major?"

"I was just curious, sir, do you like it?"

"Like what?"

"The hair, sir," muttered Burke, absently reached up and fiddling with a lock between her fingers. "Do you think it looks good like this?"

For a moment, Kelso felt like he'd run headlong into a bulkhead.

"Are you asking my _personal_ opinion, Major?"

"Yes, sir," replied Burke evenly.

Now it was Kelso's turn to feel embarrassed.

Clearing his throat, Kelso stammered for a moment, absently fiddling with the printout underneath his fingers.

"Are you sure it's _my_ opinion that counts?" asked Kelso, forcing a grin.

"Sorry, sir, never mind," muttered Burke, gently shaking her head, her expression clearly one of disappointment. "I'll have my hair fixed by this afternoon."

Taking a quick breath, Commander Sean Kelso noted her disappointment, and immediately felt sorry for his reaction.

For the first time in so many months, Burke was showing that she was more than just a consummate XO, but that she was a woman as well; she'd offered him an olive branch of sorts, clearly interested in his opinion, and like an ass, he'd made her feel uncomfortable for the effort.

"No, Major, that won't be necessary," said Kelso evenly, his smile a little less forced as he leaned in towards her over the plot table. "I think it looks very good on you."

Almost instantly, her expression softened again as she looked back across to him.

"Thank you, sir," she smiled.

"Mind if I ask whose attention it is you're trying to catch?" asked Kelso as he glanced back down at the report.

For a moment, Burke didn't reply.

Glancing up, Kelso noted her hesitation and wondered if he'd overstepped his bounds.

"If it's too personal, Major, I can just mind my own business," offered Kelso evenly.

Burke hesitated for a moment, and was about to open her mouth to reply when the entry hatch opened. Burke instantly shut her mouth and looked away as Captain Jordan Gaines stepped up to the plot table.

"What brings you to CIC, Captain?" asked Kelso evenly, glancing over at Gaines, but nevertheless puzzled by Burke's change in demeanor.

"I just had some requisition forms I needed to turn in, Commander," replied Gaines evenly as she handed over a couple slips of paper to Kelso. "I want to try and get some ammo, get my people some trigger time on the small arms range."

"That's the XO's department," muttered Kelso as he quickly passed the forms over to Burke.

"I'll see what I can arrange, Captain Gaines," said Burke evenly as she took hold of the forms, barely glancing over at Gaines as she did so.

For a moment, Kelso thought he picked up some tension between Gaines and Burke. For her part, at least, Burke's tone held a real no-nonsense edge, indeed almost harsh, even for the XO.

"Thank you, Major Burke," began Gaines, her own tone bereft of anything but formality. "When can I expect an answer to the request?"

"Hard to say, Captain," began Burke evenly, barely glancing over at the Marine CO. "Small arms qualifications are hardly a high priority right now."

For his part, Kelso was genuinely surprised at the subtly adversarial tone creeping into the Major's voice. But, by the same token, the matter did fall within her prevue and he wasn't about to start stepping on the Major's toes; micromanaging his XO was not a healthy way to command.

"Very well, Major," replied Gaines evenly as she turned back to Kelso. "Are we still on for tomorrow, Commander?"

Smiling a bit, Kelso gently nodded his head as he feigned continuing to review the already thoroughly reviewed Raptor recon report.

"Seventeen hundred hours sound good, Captain?" asked Kelso evenly.

"Seventeen hundred hours, Commander," echoed Gaines as she turned and began making her way back towards the entryway.

As he heard Gaines step back through the hatch, Kelso looked back over at Burke…

…And was genuinely surprised when he saw her intently watching the departing Captain Gaines.

"Is there a problem, Major?" asked Kelso, his tone conveying as much surprise as he felt.

Again, as if caught off guard by Kelso's attention, Burke looked back over at him and began gently shaking her head.

"No, sir, no problem," she stammered.

Taking a deep breath, Kelso set the report he'd been fiddling with back down on the plot table.

"Go ahead and just spit it out, Major," said Kelso, lowering his tone as he again leaned in over the plot table. "There's something on your mind, I can see it all over your face."

Looking back across at him, Burke held his gaze for a moment, then began lightly shaking her head again.

"I just don't think it's _appropriate_, sir," she began, trying to keep her voice low, but clearly fuming a bit.

"I'm afraid I don't follow, Major," said Kelso, his brow furrowing a bit in confusion.

"What I mean, sir, is she could at least _pretend_ to show a little more discretion."

"Okay, you've completely lost me; discretion about what?"

For a moment, Burke simply fiddled with the requisition forms in her hands, taking several hesitant breaths before finally setting them down with a light thump.

"Sir, I don't mean any disrespect, but you must _see_ it," said Burke flatly as she looked across the plot table at him. "Do I _really_ have to spell it out for you?"

"Major, you've _never_ hesitated to speak your mind to me before, so _yes_, whatever is on your mind you'd better just come right out with it."

For a moment, the two of them stood staring at one another across the plot table. Burke, hesitant, stammered for a moment, Kelso near clueless as to why.

"The Captain, she's…" began Burke, pausing, shifting uncomfortably, clearly trying to muddle through finding a way to express what was plainly uncomfortable for her to discuss. "Captain Gaines is _flirting_ with you, Commander."

Burke almost seemed to choke on the word 'attracted', and for his part, Kelso couldn't help but be surprised by the subtly bitter tone in her voice.

For his part, Kelso had begun to wonder about it himself after their most recent run together. Truth be told, he found her attractive as well, though he tried not to dwell on that fact. Quite simply, he had enough problems to deal with keeping this fleet alive to even think about heaping on the added complication of a relationship to his life.

But for Burke to be incensed by the possibility…

…And that's when it hit him.

Oh, _gods_…

Was Burke, Major Tyra Burke, the quintessential recruiting poster Colonial Officer, actually _jealous_?

Whereas before he'd felt like he'd run into a bulkhead, now he felt like that bulkhead had collapsed on top of him.

Standing there, his gaze locked with his silently livid XO, Commander Sean Kelso felt like a man drowning, desperate to chalk the idea up to nothing more than imagination, the convoluted misperceptions of his own inflated ego.

Worse still, he had absolutely no idea how to handle the situation. He almost found himself wishing the DRADIS overhead would scream out, announcing the arrival of an entire Cylon task force.

Anything to divert attention from this most awkward of moments.

Glancing up, he suddenly hated the DRADIS for its cruel silence.

Forcing out a weak chuckle, Kelso reached out, picked up a small stack of papers from the plot table, shuffled them into a pile, then turned towards the entryway.

"I'll be in my quarters, Major," muttered Kelso evenly as he quickly shuffled towards the hatch. "Advise me when the next Raptor checks in."

"Sir?" muttered Burke, surprised at the Commander's abrupt departure.

From her tone, it was clear she'd expected more, but Commander Sean Kelso was too stunned to even begin to try and work through the quagmire he'd suddenly and quite unexpectedly found himself sinking in.

Stepping out into the corridor, Kelso felt his heart pounding in his chest as he took a few brisk steps down the corridor, pausing, reaching a hand out towards the bulkhead to steady himself as he took a few deep breaths.

"What the frak?" he muttered, reaching up to massage the bridge of his nose. "I _must_ be losing my mind."

"_Sir_?"

Glancing back over his shoulder, Kelso was embarrassed to see the blatantly confused expression on the face of the Marine posted outside CIC.

He'd forgotten the Marine would be there.

Forcing out another weak smile, Kelso waved his hand dismissively.

"Nothing, Private," he grinned.

Nodding his head gently, but clearly no less confused, the Marine simply stood there, watching, as Kelso endured an equally embarrassing moment wherein he actually forgot which direction his quarters were in.

"Carry-on, Private," said Kelso simply as he regained his bearings and headed off down the corridor.

"Aye, Commander."

* * *

******Raptor Four-Two-Seven  
****Recon Mission  
**

"What…the…_frak_?" muttered Lieutenant Alan Banner, awestruck as he sat looking out past the canopy.

"Now _this_ is something we're going to have to report," muttered Lieutenant Rick Kitridge as he slowly dropped down into the co-pilot seat beside Banner.

Spread out in front of them, tumbling in the weak light of the system's star, was a vast field of debris; crushed and twisted alloy sheets and stanchions, support beams, large ceramic plates, quite clearly, _undeniably_, the remains of a destroyed vessel.

"Where the frak do you think all this debris came from?" muttered Kitridge, his mouth hanging half-open in awe.

"If I had a clue, I doubt my heart would be this far up in my throat," replied Banner as he continued to crane his neck around at a large chunk of debris drifting by. "You see those markings there?"

"No, what markings?" snapped Kitridge as he glanced about.

"Never mind, it's gone," sighed Banner as he looked back out at the debris field. "I thought I saw some marking on that chunk of debris that just floated by."

"What kind of markings?"

"How the hell should I know?" replied Banner. "I wouldn't have been asking if I had an idea."

For a moment, the two of them sat silent, looking out at the debris.

"Wait, you see that?" asked Kitridge as he pointed out past the canopy.

"See what?" asked Banner, squinting slightly.

"That, over there," replied Kitridge as he pointed out at a piece of debris floating in the dim light.

"Looks like a wing," muttered Banner as he caught sight of what Kitridge was pointing at.

"That's exactly what it looks like," said Kitridge.

"If it is, it's not from any ship I've ever seen," continued Banner as he continued to look at the tumbling object.

"Do you think it's Colonial?" asked Kitridge.

Banner simply shrugged.

"What about Cylon?" asked Kitridge, glancing over at Banner.

Again, Banner simply shrugged.

Scowling a bit, Kitridge looked over at Banner.

"Think you'll ever get around to paying me those fifty cubits you owe me from last night's game?"

Prodded by Kitridge's statement, Banner looked over at him and began shaking his head slightly…

…Just as something slammed into the cockpit canopy.

"Oh, _frak_!" snapped Kitridge, his arms reflexively flying up in front of his helmet faceplate.

His own heart racing, Banner's eyes darted back and forth across his console, vigilant for any sign of damage, any alarms as he gripped tightly onto the craft's controls.

Nothing.

The Raptor was undamaged.

His breathing still somewhat erratic, quick, Banner looked out past the canopy for some sign of what had stuck the Raptor.

"What the _frak_ was that?" muttered Kitridge as he slowly lowered his arms.

"I don't know, didn't see it," replied Banner as he looked out at the tumbling debris warily.

Stunned, the two Raptor crewmen fought to regain control over their breathing.

Then, slowly, Kitridge reached up, his hand shaking slightly as he began pointing at something smeared across the canopy exterior…

…A thin, reddish stain, small, but evident

"Gods, is that what I think it is?" muttered Kitridge.

"I sure as hell hope it's not," replied Banner as he flexed his now-quaking fingers around the control stick. "Let's see if we can figure out what hit us. Hit the searchlight."

Reaching out to the console, Kitridge toggled the switch for the light mounted under the Raptor's nose. As the beam cut through the surrounding darkness, Banner slowly brought the nose of the Raptor around as the two of them sat there, eyes scanning the depths of space outside the canopy.

"Oh, _frak_, there it is," muttered Banner as the light played across a figure tumbling against the backdrop of endless stars.

His breath quickening, a lump choking his throat, Kitridge began gently shaking his head, as much in disbelief as in fear.

"No, no, _no_, this is all _wrong_," he muttered.

"Wrong or not, it's _real_," countered Banner.

Tumbling, caught in the glaring light from the Raptor's searchlight, was a _body_.

Unmistakably, undeniably, a body.

With the hairs on their necks standing on end, hearts racing, breaths clipped, rapid, the two Raptor crewmen were transfixed, mesmerized by the impossible sight of a body tumbling slowly in the vacuum just outside their canopy.

The body was fully clothed in an olive drab coverall, and a head encased in what clearly seemed to be a flight helmet, but neither of which was Colonial issue. Still, the two pilots nevertheless felt an almost dreadful yet eerie sense of familiarity as they watched the body tumbling just beyond the canopy.

"Okay, a body," muttered Kitridge, his mouth dry. "Now what?"

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Banner forced himself to look away, craning his head around to see if there was any other debris tumbling towards them.

"Well," he began, licking his dry lips as he looked back over at the body. "We were sent out here to recon; I'd say this counts as something significant enough to report."

"Yeah, okay," muttered Kitridge, slowly standing up, his eyes still locked on the body. "I'll start spinning up the FTL for the jump back."

"No, not yet."

"What, why the frak not?" snapped Kitridge as he looked down at Banner.

"Look, we go back now empty handed, everyone is likely to think we've gone crazy," sighed Banner as he glanced up at Kitridge. "We need some evidence."

For a moment, they simply stared at one another.

Then, looking away, Banner gently gripped onto the craft's controls and began nudging the Raptor closer to the body.

"Oh, frak no!" burst Kitridge as he suddenly realized what it was Banner was suggesting. "Snap some damned pictures with the gun cameras for gods' sake."

"Look," snapped Banner, glaring back over his shoulder at Kitridge. "This is _no_ different from any other S&R retrieval."

"The _frak_ it's not," sputtered Kitridge. "Just in case you're missing the big picture here let me spell it out for you; our fleet is so far out from the Colonies that none of the stars even look familiar, and I don't know about you but I've never seen a uniform like that one."

"So just what are you trying to say?" asked Banner as he looked somewhat quizzically over at Kitridge.

"What I'm saying is that body out there could be a fraking _alien_."

"Don't give me that science-fiction crap," snapped Banner dismissively as he looked back out the canopy and continued to nudge the Raptor closer. "Two arms, two legs, one head, for all we know this was just another ship that got away from the attack on the Colonies. Now, get back to the side hatch and prepare to retrieve that body."

Kitridge stood there for a moment, little more than flabbergasted as he watched Banner continue to maneuver the Raptor closer.

"Fine," groaned Kitridge, his tone heavy with frustration as he stepped back into the rear compartment.

As he kept a keen eye on the body, Banner continued to gently nudge the controls, deftly maneuvering the tiny ship in towards the tumbling form.

"You ready to pick up our hitchhiker?" asked Banner evenly as he glanced over his shoulder.

"Not that it really fraking matters, but no," replied Kitridge flatly as he reached up and snapped a safety line into place on a bracket beside the hatch.

"Well, once you've shifted your ass into the proper gear it should be right outside the hatch," replied Banner evenly.

Glancing out the small window, Kitridge took a deep steadying breath as he caught sight of the body.

"Okay, let's do this," sighed Kitridge as he pressed a button that quickly depressurized the cabin.

"Decompression complete," muttered Banner a few moments later.

"Opening the hatch."

In the silence of hard vacuum, the hatch slowly lifting up and away as Kitridge gave a gently tug on both ends of the safety line, first the end clipped to the bracket, then the end clipped to his flight gear. Looking out the open hatch, Kitridge saw the body tumbling at the edge of the Raptor winglet.

"Sure you don't want to just snap a few pictures?"

"I'll make you a deal, Rick," began Banner as he glanced back over at Kitridge. "You grab that body, and I'll double what I owe you from last night's game."

"A hundred cubits, eh?" muttered Kitridge as he stood staring out at the body. "I guess that just leaves me frak out of excuses then, doesn't it?"

"I could make it an order if it makes you feel better about it," offered Banner, chuckling slightly.

"Frak you," replied Kitridge as he took his first tentative step out onto the Raptor winglet.

Letting go of his hold on the open hatch, Kitridge continued to edge his way forward, inches at a time, each tentative step taken without taking his eyes off the body.

"Just a little to Port," he muttered as he reached the edge of the winglet.

In response, Kitridge felt the Raptor move slightly beneath him, the body inching ever closer.

Then, with one hand clasped firmly around the retention strap, Kitridge reached out with his other hand towards the body. Flexing his fingers to still the trembling of his hand, he took a deep breath.

"Okay, hold it _right_ there."

* * *

******Warstar _Galactica  
_****Infirmary – Isolation Ward  
**

"Both Lieutenant Banner and Lieutenant Kitridge check out medically," sighed the Medic as she leafed through the pages on the chart. "A little exhaustion perhaps, but nothing some good sleep won't cure."

"Thank you, Petty Officer," said Commander Sean Kelso evenly as he stood looking at the two Raptor crewmen who'd inadvertently made his already problematic situation potentially more difficult.

"Is there anything else, Commander?" asked the Medic.

"Any reason I can't talk to them?"

"No medical reasons not to sir, no," replied the Medic evenly.

"Carry on then, Petty Officer," said Kelso as he stepped over to the two pilots.

Seated on the edges of two exam tables, the two pilots did indeed look tired, but nevertheless moved to stand as Kelso stepped up to them.

Waving his hand gently, Kelso motioned for them to stay put as he stopped and stood looking first to one, then the other. Taking a deep breath, he slowly crossed his arms, in all actuality unsure of just what to say at first.

"You two realize you just made my life a whole lot more complicated, right?" he finally sighed.

At first, both Banner and Kitridge seemed unsure about how to interpret the Commander's statement, but soon relaxed as they noted the subtle grin on his face.

"Didn't mean to, sir," shrugged Banner. "Just seemed like the kind of thing we needed to report, I mean if whatever it was we saw out there was the remains of another a Colonial ship…"

"Then we could be on the trail of other survivors, I know," muttered Kelso, scratching his chin a bit. "Hard part is going to be figuring out how to proceed from here."

"So how far has the news spread, sir?" asked Kitridge.

"Officially, not far," sighed Kelso as he slowly stepped towards a third exam table and leaned against it. "Beyond the fact that your ship was diverted here to _Galactica_ rather than returning to the _Proteus_, only a handful of deck gang and medical personnel have any idea that you brought something aboard."

"And unofficially, sir?" asked Kitridge.

Kelso couldn't help but snort.

"Secrets are hard to keep, especially aboard a flagship," nodded Kelso as he gently folded his arms. "Only question is how badly the information has been distorted from the actual truth."

"And what about you, Commander?" asked Banner pointedly. "Do you think it was a mistake bringing the body back?"

As he mulled over the question, Kelso took a deep breath.

When Banner and Kitridge's Raptor had jumped back into range of the fleet and requested immediate clearance to land aboard _Galactica_, Kelso had been surprised, but not so nearly as shocked as he'd been when they'd explained why over a secured wireless channel.

"Whoever or whatever it is you two retrieved could have serious ramifications for this entire fleet," said Kelso evenly, looking down at the deck for a moment. "Six months now we've been out here with not a single sign of either the Cylons or other survivors. If this was another Colonial ship, then we have to assume the Cylons are lurking somewhere nearby."

Looking back up at the two pilots, Kelso gently shook his head again.

He'd sent them out in search of food, water, maybe some tylium.

What they'd brought back instead had more than enough potential for undermining the fledgling sense of order that had begun to take hold within the fleet.

"Well, no point sugar-coating it, you two have given me one hell-of-a headache to contend with," sighed Kelso. "But whatever the problems we face from here on out, for the record you two _did_ do the right thing. Whatever else might be out there, it's better we learn about it on our own terms."

"So what do we do now, sir," shrugged Banner.

Kelso couldn't help but chuckle a bit; indeed, what _should_ they do now?

With that, Kelso began pacing a bit, mulling over his own thoughts.

"I presume you two accurately charted the position where you found this debris?" asked Kelso evenly, continuing to pace.

"Oh, yes, sir," replied Kitridge. "All the data should be in our Raptor's flight recorder."

"Major Macedo is already working with Major Culver on the download," said Kelso as he stopped his pacing, turned, and looked over at the two pilots. "But, as the first two to have actual eyeballs on this, give me your take, what do you think is out there?"

For a moment, Banner and Kitridge seemed genuinely surprised at Kelso's question.

"Well, sir, there's not a whole lot to say, really," began Kitridge. "Beyond the body, there really wasn't a whole lot left, just chunks of debris."

"But what made you deviate from your flight plan in the first place?"

"Rogue radiation anomaly, sir," began Banner. "Picked it up on DRADIS during our mid-system sweep, went in for a closer look."

"And that's when we found the debris field," finished Kitridge.

"And what do you think it was, first impression?"

"Definitely a ship, sir," replied Banner flatly.

"Most of the debris we actually saw was little larger than our Raptor," sighed Kitridge as he glanced over at Banner. "But DRADIS says the field was pretty vast, maybe spread over sixty cubic kilometers."

"At _least_ sixty-K," continued Banner. "I also think the ship might have been some sort of carrier."

"Why do you think that, Lieutenant?"

"A wing, sir," replied Banner flatly. "Within the debris we saw an object that looked like the wing of a small fighter-sized craft."

"Colonial?" asked Kelso evenly.

"It was a bit larger than those on a Viper, sir," replied Kitridge, taking in a deep breath."If it was Colonial, it's from a ship I've never seen before, I suppose a prototype of some kind is a possibility."

Taking a deep breath, Kelso continued to stare at the two Raptor crewmen. With a whole host of questions still careening through his mind, Kelso wished finding the answers were so simple. No, these answers, significant as they were, were doubtless going to be painfully slow in coming.

Still, the questions raised echoed through him…

Had the ship indeed been another Colonial vessel that had survived the destruction of the Colonies?

If so, who or what had destroyed it?

Gods, he had to find out.

"Excuse me, Commander?"

Yanked from his own thoughts, Kelso turned to see the same Medic who'd cleared Banner and Kitridge standing there.

"Yes, Petty Officer, what is it?"

"Major Lefler is requesting your presence in post-mortem, sir."

"What, so soon?" muttered Kelso, glancing up at the clock on the wall. "Is she done with the autopsy already?"

"The Major didn't say, sir, she just asked me to have you join her."

"Thank you," nodded Kelso as she turned and stepped away.

Taking a deep breath, Kelso looked back over at the two pilots. If they were making any effort at hiding their curiosity, they were failing miserably.

"Well, gentlemen, I'm afraid I have two choices for you," began Kelso evenly as he took a step closer to them. "Since you two found the body, it's only fair you have a chance to be there when the good doctor delivers her report."

"Or, sir?

"_Or_, you two can go get some rest," said Kelso evenly. "Downside to that is you two will be effectively sequestered until we get some more answers. Nothing personal, mind you, just preemptive rumor control."

"Understood, Commander," said Kitridge, practically hopping down off the exam table.

"We started this mess, might as well see it through," continued Banner evenly as he too got up from the exam table and motioned over at Kitridge. "Anything beats being locked in solitary with this guy."

* * *

******Battlestar _Pacifica  
_****Commanding Officer's Quarters  
**

"You must have some idea what's going on over there," said Paul Bess evenly, slowly folding his arms as he leaned back against the bulkhead.

"Not a single word," replied Adrian Kelso, gently shaking his head. "At least, not any more than you; a lone Raptor jumped back to the fleet and instead of returning to _Proteus_ made an emergency diversion request to _Galactica_."

"Surely he'd tell you what was going on if you asked him though," interjected Mark Shipman. "He is your son, for the gods' sake."

"And he's also the Commander of this fleet," countered Adrian flatly. "Now, _if_ there _is_ something going on, and he's made the decision to keep it confidential for now, then we have to trust that there is a reason."

"Problem is rumors spread fast," began Paul Bess, slowly stroking the light beard he'd recently begun to grow. "People are already whispering everything from an imminent Cylon attack to the discovery of Thirteenth Tribe, of all such nonsense."

Taking a deep breath, Adrian Kelso looked from Bess to Shipman.

Rumors were a part of shipboard life; that much he knew from the war. Hell, prior to the attack on the Colonies, there were such a prolific number of faux-news shows one could easily argue that gossip and innuendos were bonafide human obsessions.

Trouble was that in the closed environment such as that aboard the _Pacifica_, rumors had a tendency to take on a life of their own. Rumors led to supposition, and in the absence of facts or evidence, imagination often filled in the gaps.

That's how conspiracy theories started.

And once such a hydra was loose, facts tended to matter less and less; cut off the head of one lie with the truth, two more pseudo-theories simply grew in its place.

Letting out a flat huff of frustration, Adrian Kelso reached up and began rubbing his eyes.

"Alright, I'll put in a call over to _Galactica_, see what I can find out," he sighed, looking back over at Bess and Shipman. "_But_, in the meantime we need to head off any and all rumors that are being spread around within the civilian circles."

"And you'll let us know as soon as you find out any information?" asked Shipman hopefully.

Adrian nodded slightly.

"Just so long as we all remember, _Galactica_ calls the shots on all matters military," continued Adrian. "And that means my son calls the shots, and _I_ support him. Our job is to tend to the huddled masses so he and his crew can get us through to whatever final port the gods have in store for us."

With that, Bess and Shipman departed, presumably to return to their respective ships. Slowly leaning back in his chair, Adrian was slightly annoyed when he accidently bumped his head against the bulkhead, forgetting for a moment just how close to the bulkhead he actually was. Gently rubbing the spot on the back of his head, he instead stood up, snatching up the uniform tunic given to him by Theo Cullen what had begun to seem like a lifetime ago now.

While he'd initially felt quite odd wearing a Colonial uniform while not technically actively commissioned, over time he'd grown accustomed to it. In fact, to his best recollection, no one, not his son, nor any of the other active officers had ever openly questioned his wearing it. Indeed, over the last several months, more and more of the civilians pressed into service aboard the decoms had begun wearing Colonial uniforms, typically the olive drab fatigues, but uniforms none-the-less.

But as he slowly slid his arms into the sleeves of his tunic, Adrian Kelso knew there was an extra important reason for wearing the uniform today.

* * *

"Commander on deck," snapped Ensign Jinara Cole dutifully as Adrian Kelso stepped in through the CIC hatch.

"As you were," he said simply, grinning a bit as he made his way over towards the plot table.

Ensign Jinara Cole had been little more than a green officer only a few months ago, a veritable child who by sheer luck had been aboard the _Pacifica_ when the attack began.

Or had it been fate?

He'd never forgotten the terrible irony that the _Pacifica_ had nearly been destroyed so many decades ago defending Libran, only to have the colony's own atomic death throes mask the old Battlestar's escape. But as time had gone on, the frantic race to escape giving way to time for reflection, the old man Adrian Kelso had become couldn't miss the more poetic quirk of fate that his old XO, Colonel Danielle Cole had once saved the _Pacifica_, and now the _Pacifica_ had repaid that debt by spiriting Ensign Jinara Cole, her granddaughter, away from destruction.

And while Jinara had been only weeks out of the Academy when _Pacifica_ had escaped, these last months she'd blossomed into her own. Truly, she'd taken her grandmother's place as his Executive Officer. Under the guidance and subtle tutelage of not only Adrian Kelso, but most every last veteran aboard who had both served under and admired Dani Cole, Jinara had grown in confidence and ability.

As he slowly made his way up to the plot table, Adrian Kelso couldn't help but continue to grin.

"How went the mid-watch, Ensign Cole?" asked Adrian evenly.

"Nothing significant to report, Commander," replied Cole evenly as she handed over a clipboard. "A few wireless messages from _Galactica_, mostly housekeeping, some changes to resupply schedules."

"Very well," said Adrian as he quickly looked over the wireless message printouts. "Ready to be relieved?"

"I could definitely use some rack time, sir," sighed Cole, slowly stretching her back a bit as she looked up at the DRADIS display overhead.

As he set the clipboard down on the plot table, Adrian caught sight of Theo Cullen stepping in through the entryway in the upper gallery. Nodding at Cullen, Adrian watched as his old Operations Officer made his way down towards the plot table.

"Did you get what I asked for?" asked Adrian simply as Cullen stepped up.

In response, Cullen smiled and handed Adrian a small box.

"Excellent," beamed Adrian as he turned back to Ensign Cole.

Not missing the exchange, Cole looked over at the old Commander with a curious expression.

Reaching down, Adrian snatched up the handset on his side of the plot table and toggled the switch for the _Pacifica_'s internal One-MC.

"All hands, this is the Commander, attention to orders," he said evenly, locking the switch a moment later so the handset would continue to broadcast as he set it down on the plot table.

"Mr. Cullen?" said Adrian Kelso evenly as he came to attention.

"Ensign Jinara Cole, front and center," snapped Cullen as he fell into place one pace behind and to the left of Adrian Kelso.

Perplexed, but no less compliant, Ensign Cole quickly made her way around the plot table, stopping and coming to attention in front of Adrian Kelso.

As she stood there, Ensign Cole watched as Cullen handed Adrian Kelso a single sheet of paper. Retrieving his glasses from his uniform pocket, Kelso slipped them into place, grinning slightly as he cleared his throat and held the sheet up so he could read from it.

"To our trusty and well beloved Jinara Cole, greeting," he began, his voice echoing a bit through CIC. "We, reposing special trust and confidence in your loyalty, courage, and good conduct, do by these presents constitute and appoint you to be a Lieutenant Junior Grade in the Colonial Fleet. You are therefore carefully and diligently to discharge your duty in that rank or in such other rank as we may from time to time hereafter be pleased to promote you to, in such manner on such occasions as may be prescribed by us to exercise and well discipline in their duties those officers, men and women as may be placed under your orders from time to time and use your best endeavors to keep them in good order and discipline. And we do hereby command them to obey you as their superior officer and you to observe and follow such orders and directions as from time to time you shall receive from us, or any superior officer, according to the rules and discipline of the Military Forces of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol, in pursuance of the trust hereby reposed in you. Given under my hand this date aboard the Battlestar _Pacifica_."

With that, Adrian Kelso took a half-step forward and presented the small box he'd been given by Cullen to a clearly stunned Jinara Cole. Taking hold of the box, she looked down, opened it, and saw the twin collar insignia of a Lieutenant Junior Grade.

Looking back up at Adrian Kelso, Cole began to smile.

Reaching over, Kelso picked the handset back up.

"This is the Commander, thank you for your attention, carry on."

Hanging the handset back up, Kelso looked over at a still clearly stunned now-Lieutenant Jinara Cole.

"Well are you going to stare at those all day or are you going to try them on?" chuckled Adrian as he stepped closer to her.

"Hadn't quite decided yet, sir," she smiled, her eyes still locked on the gleaming insignia inside the box. "Hadn't really thought I'd ever be promoted."

"Our fleet may be a lot smaller, _Lieutenant_, but we still need to acknowledge those who deserve recognition," said Kelso evenly as he reached up and began removing the Ensign insignia from Cole's collar.

"But with all due respect, and gratitude, Commander, what does this all mean?" asked Cole as she looked up into the beaming eyes of Adrian Kelso.

"What it means, Lieutenant Cole…" began Kelso as he fastened the first Lieutenant pin into place. "…is that in spite of all we've lost, life must continue. And in spite of what the Cylons visited upon us, we will rebuild."

* * *

******Warstar _Galactica  
_****Infirmary – Post-Mortem  
**

"Major, are you absolutely certain?" muttered Kelso, his utter astonishment echoing in his tone.

"Even a first year resident couldn't mess this up, sir," smiled Lefler as she stood looking down at the sheet-covered figure lying on her exam table.

Poised just inside the entryway, Kelso, Banner and Kitridge were visibly tense as Lelfer reached over and slowly pulled the sheet away from the figure.

"Of course, you're welcome to get a second opinion," sighed Lefler evenly as she looked back over at Kelso. "But you might as well see for yourself first."

His eyes locked on the figure lying on the cold metal exam table, Commander Sean Kelso took a few tentative steps closer. Deep within his chest, his heart was racing as he stood looking at the unmoving face.

There was clearly some severe bruising about the face and chest, according to Lefler, the surface evidence of the blunt-force trauma that had contributed to death. The skin had a sickly, yellowish pallor to it, further marred by additional bruising caused when the blood vessels had boiled and burst due to exposure to hard vacuum. But underneath all that surface damage was a truth that was as plain as the face sitting motionless on the table.

"Subject is a human male, approximately mid-twenties in age based on bone development and tooth erosion, blood type O-negative," said Lefler evenly as Kelso, Banner and Kitridge continued to step tentatively closer.

As the three of them stood there, a mixture of astonishment and disbelief clear in their features, Kitridge began slowly shaking his head.

"Gods, he looks like my cousin Alec," he muttered weakly.

"That's _not_ your cousin, Rick," countered Banner softly. "What the frak is going on here?"

"That seems to be the question of the day," said Lefler evenly. "I'm still waiting on some lab work to come back, but there's no doubt; whoever he was or wherever he came from, rumors about little gray men can be put to rest, what you two gentlemen plucked from space is a human corpse, plain and simple."

"Not so simple, Major," sighed Kelso as he continued to look down at the clearly human face lying cold on the table. "Did he have any personal effects that might be able to help us figure out where he came from?"

"Everything he had on him is sitting over on that table there, Commander," replied Lefler as she pointed over at another table off to the side of post-mortem.

Making his way over to the table with both Banner and Kitridge close behind, Kelso looked down at the items Lelfer had removed from the dead man.

While he wasn't exactly sure what he'd been expecting, Kelso was struck most by how utterly unremarkable everything on the table appeared to be. Part of him had hoped that something lying on the table might offer some of the answers he found himself groping to find. But while everything lying there held an air of familiarity, indeed, with form following function, how different could a pair of underwear truly be, there was nothing in the pile of personal effects that clearly pegged the dead man as having originated on the Colonies.

"This helmet's not too different from our own," muttered Banner as he gently rotated the helmet around, running his fingers over the elaborate design painted above the visor. "A bit more ornate, perhaps, but similar enough."

"These might be unit patches of some kind," offered Kitridge as he held up one of the embroidered crests sewn to the simple olive drab coverall.

But even as the trio continued to sift through the pile, Commander Sean Kelso only found himself growing more and more frustrated. For each item they looked at or scrutinized, there was no stunning revelation, no catharsis that definitively resolved the mystery of where this man had come from.

Reaching into a pocket on the olive drab coverall, Kitridge slowly pulled out what appeared to be nothing more than a wallet. Glancing over, Kelso watched as Kitridge slowly opened the wallet, his expression wavering for a moment as he closed it and rather sheepishly handed the wallet over to Kelso.

"I don't suppose you found his driver's license," muttered Kelso as he took hold of the wallet.

"No, sir," muttered Kitridge simply, his voice somewhat somber.

Opening the wallet, Commander Sean Kelso found himself looking at a simple photo of a couple, both smiling, eyes alive and bright, holding one another close, lovingly cradled in each other's arms. One was clearly the man who now lay cold on Lefler's exam table. The other was a young woman, her long blonde hair hanging about her shoulders as she gently rested a hand on her visibly pregnant belly.

More than a mystery, the man lying dead behind him had been imparted a measure of humanity that filled Kelso with a sense of sadness. Looking at the picture, he found himself mourning a bit for the unknown woman and her unborn child; a father and a lover lost in the depths of space would no longer be there to hold them.

Slowly closing the wallet, Kelso looked up at Banner and Kitridge.

"I want you two to get down to the flight deck and aid Major Macedo and Major Culver in retrieving the flight data from your Raptor," he said evenly.

"I thought you said we were in isolation, sir," said Banner, a bit surprised as he glanced over at the Commander.

"Consider this a parole," replied Kelso evenly as he looked at both Banner and Kitridge. "We need answers, and I don't think we'll get them by treading softly."

* * *

**Warstar _Galactica  
_****Commanding Officer's Quarters  
**

As he stood there, leaning forward slightly over his simple desk, Commander Sean Kelso found himself looking out into some of the most surprised faces he had ever seen since the apocalyptic attack on the Colonies. Having called together his XO, the other CO's from the military ships in the fleet, as well as his father and Paul Bess, Commander Sean Kelso had briskly laid out what little information had been gathered by Banner and Kitridge.

An anomalous radiation signature, a vast field of debris, an unidentified human body found in the depths of space…

All things considered, the other senior ship CO's had taken the news pretty well.

"To say the least, Commander this is a lot to take in," sighed Major Tyra Burke as she stood, gently tapping her toe in what almost seemed to be annoyance. "Is there any reason we were not informed of this sooner, sir?"

"Until we had more information, Major, I decided to keep it strictly need-to-know," he replied evenly. "I'm sure you can understand why."

"Without a doubt," said Colonel Thadius Runel, as he slowly lifted himself from the simple couch set against the bulkhead. "Something like this has the potential to heap some serious difficulties onto an already full list of problems."

As the assemblage of officers continued to mill about, Commander Kelso watched them. It was clear most of them were still struggling a bit to digest the information. It didn't help that they didn't have much in the way of hard facts to digest in the first place.

"Well if the body is human, we must be looking at another ship that survived the attack on the Colonies," said Colonel Webber as she continued to leaf through the small stack of reports Kelso had handed out to them when they first arrived. "We know that the Battlestar _Galactica_ got away with some civilian ships, this could be the clue we need to begin tracking them down."

"Did he have any personal effects on his person when the Raptor crew found him?" asked _Proteus_' CO, Major Tyle. "Anything that might help us identify which ship he was from?"

"Think of your own pilots, Major," countered Paul Bess evenly as he looked over to her. "How much beyond their own flight gear do they normally take with them on a mission?"

"Says here he had a wallet and some dog-tags, though," muttered Adrian Kelso evenly as he perused the pages, his eyes following the lines through the fames of his thin-rim glasses. "You weren't able to get an ID off of those?"

"Neither of those items were very helpful, in fact, quite the opposite," replied Commander Kelso with a long sigh. "The wallet had no ID in it, at least not that we could tell. The few documents or items that _were_ inside were indecipherable. And as for the dog-tags, well, those had no writing on them at all, just some peculiar barcode etched into the surface."

"Is is possible we stumbled onto a relic?" asked Colonel Runel evenly as he continued to peruse the report. "The description of the man's uniform sounds a lot like some of the flightsuits from pre-unification; there were a lot of ships that went missing before the Cylon War, maybe this one got lost like we did."

"Possible, but I'd have to say unlikely," replied Commander Kelso. "From the radiation pattern and dispersal of debris, whatever destroyed this ship it couldn't have happened more than a couple of weeks ago at most, hard to imagine a ship from before the war surviving over six decades out here on its own."

"Then perhaps it was some sort of black ops ship that got away," offered Colonel Webber. "It would explain why there aren't any hard documents on the body."

"There is another possibility we seem to be tiptoeing around," began Colonel Runel, letting out a long sigh as he looked up from the sheets. "What if this ship isn't from the Colonies at all?"

"Oh, I really don't like the direction that line of thought begins to take us, Colonel," muttered Commander Kelso, shaking his head slightly as he looked over at Runel. "We start off along _that_ path it will open up a whole can of religious worms I am not looking forward to dealing with."

"Still, it _is_ a possibility, Commander, one I think we shouldn't be so quick to discount," shrugged Runel. "We all know very well that our ancestors migrated to the Colonies from Kobol."

"Are you suggesting we may be near Kobol?" asked Colonel Webber pointedly, smirking slightly as she glanced over at Runel.

"It _has_ to be some sort of Cylon trick," interjected Major Paul Ambrose, the CO from the destroyer _Adroa_ as he all but dropped his copy of the report down into his lap. "They brought this ship, or whatever it is, out here and blew it up and left this body for us to find."

"To what end?" asked Major Jasper, the CO of _Ikenga_, shaking her head slightly as she looked up from her copy of the report. "What would the Cylons gain by doing something like that?"

"Well just look at how we are all reacting right now," continued Ambrose as he motioned around at the others. "This could be nothing more than a ruse meant to shake us up, throw us off balance while they prepare an attack."

"We haven't seen any sign of the Cylons since we escaped from Leto's Twins," countered Colonel Webber evenly. "If this is some sort of trap, it's a hell-of-an elaborate one, even for them; first off they would have had to know beforehand that we'd be sending a Raptor to that system. Second, how could the Cylons even be certain our pilots would find the body amongst all that debris, much less bring it back?"

"Look, part of the reason I had for keeping this information compartmentalized in the first place was to _avoid_ this kind of conjecture," began Kelso evenly as he held up his own copy of the pages. "In my experience, rumors and innuendo have a way of taking on a life of their own even when real events eventually prove them wrong."

"So what's your plan?" asked his father simply.

"Since we've learned just about all we're going to from the body, I figure our best option is to investigate the wreckage site itself," replied Commander Kelso evenly as he looked around at the assemblage. "Macedo, Culver, Banner and Kitridge have already retrieved all the recon data about the system and wreckage location from the Raptor's systems. All we have to do is go back for a closer look."

"Somehow I get the feeling you're not talking about sending out a bunch of Raptors," sighed Paul Bess as he looked over at Kelso.

"Indeed not," smiled Kelso. "This will be a true reconnaissance in force, one ship, _Galactica_ alone."

"But why not take the whole fleet?" asked Major Amanda Tyle.

"From what we can tell from the data taken by the Raptor, whatever that debris was, it was destroyed by a thermonuclear detonation," replied Commander Kelso evenly. "Could be an engine overload, could be a bunch of tactical nukes. Until we know either way, I'm not about to risk the safety of the civilians by taking us in as a group."

"Granted, sir, but why _Galactica_?" asked Colonel Runel.

"First and foremost, we have the experts, some of the senior most engineers left in the fleet are aboard this ship. They're the one who are best suited to analyzing any debris we pick up. And second, if this does turn out to be another Colonial vessel, or more to the point, if this turns out to be some sort of Cylon trap, _Galactica_ has the best chance of fighting her way out."

"There's another good reason to limit it to one ship," interjected Bess. "They're will be fewer rumors to fight off later."

"Indeed," agreed Commander Kelso.

"And what if this does turn out to be a human ship from somewhere other than the Colonies?" asked Adrian Kelso evenly as he slowly slipped his reading glasses back into his pocket.

"Well, I suppose we'll deal with that when we know for certain," replied Commander Kelso evenly. "Simple fact is that right now we _don't_ know; this mission is our best chance to find out either way."

With that, most of the assembled officers simply nodded. For their part, they seemed to be conceding themselves to the frustration that Commander Sean Kelso already felt at the lack hard facts.

"_Galactica_ will jump to the coordinates of the wreckage in six hours," sighed Commander Kelso. "Colonel Runel, you will take command of the rest of the fleet until we return."

"Very well," nodded Runel, a slight smirk creeping onto his lips. "How long do you want us to wait?"

"Give us six hours," sighed Commander Kelso. "If we haven't returned or you don't have contact with us by Raptor, you will jump the fleet to a new location."

"Understood, sir, but…"

"No 'buts', Colonel Runel," interjected Commander Kelso flatly. "If you don't hear from us in six hours, no heroics, the safety of this fleet takes absolute precedence over the _Galactica_."

At that, Runel nodded in understanding.

Taking a deep breath, Kelso looked around to each of them. He wished there was something more to say to them, but frankly, there wasn't. Either _Galactica_ would find out some new information and return, or they wouldn't.

"Go ahead and report back to your respective commands," began Commander Kelso as he continued to look around to each of them. "Now it goes without saying, but I'll say it anyway; keep on top of the rumors. _Galactica_ jumping away from the fleet is not something people are going to miss. If it comes down to it, we're on a recon mission, nothing more. Not a lie, just a little pruning of the truth."

Again, the assemblage nodded.

"Dismissed," sighed Kelso simply.

With that, everyone began to file back out of the Commander's quarters, everyone that is, but his father, who simply stood leaning against a bulkhead as the others walked by.

"Here to give me another pep-talk?" smiled Sean evenly as the entryway closed behind the last of the departing officers.

"Do you need one?"

"A little affirmation that I'm doing the right thing might help," shrugged Sean as he looked over at his father.

"At this point, you don't need me to tell you that," sighed Adrian as he stepped over and dropped down onto the now vacant couch. "You know what you're doing, Sean. I've certainly got no reason to question your judgment."

"But?" muttered Sean evenly as he slowly lowered himself back into his own seat.

"No 'but'."

"I don't accept that, Dad," said Sean, shaking his head slightly. "You've got something on your mind otherwise you wouldn't have stayed and waited for the others to leave."

"Gods, you don't know how much you sound like your mother when you say things like that," chuckled Adrian as he looked over at his son. "She was more insightful than I ever really gave her credit for."

"So what's on your mind, Dad?"

"Practical concerns aside, I just want to make sure you've fully considered all the ramifications a discovery like this could have," said Adrian evenly. "I mean, a human floating out here in the middle of deep space. Gods, six months now and we still haven't gotten any closer to making a firm fix on where that wild jump deposited us. What are the odds of finding a human being way out wherever the hell 'here' is?"

"I certainly wouldn't want to place odds on chances that slim," sighed Sean evenly. "Nevertheless we found the body, and now we have to deal with it. What's your point?"

"My point is this, Son, you need to tread very softly with something like this," began Adrian evenly, fidgeting a bit as he leaned forward on the couch.

"Don't worry, Dad," grinned Sean. "If the Cylons show themselves, we'll jump out at the first sign of a Raider."

"That's not what I meant, Sean," countered Adrian evenly. "Runel's right, there are going to be people out there who are going to hear a story like this and immediately run for their copy of the Scriptures. Something like this has the potential to radically alter everything we accept on a truly fundamental level."

"Hence the reason we're taking it one step at a time," countered Sean.

"No, _more_ than the military practicalities, you need to be ready for this to alter our society itself."

"Considering our society has already survived the destruction of our homeworlds, I'm at a loss to understand exactly how much more you think it can be changed."

"You're concerned with controlling the rumors, and that's good, but you also need to consider the flip side," continued Adrian. "With everything else our people have endured, losing everything in the attack, they're already searching their souls for an explanation for why it happened and why they were the ones chosen to survive. I just want you to keep in mind, there might be some who'll seize onto this as some sort of sign from the gods."

"I'm not a big believer in fate, Dad," replied Sean evenly.

"No, but there are a lot of people who are."

"So what am I to tread softly about, specifically?"

"Earth."

At that one word, uttered by a man he'd always viewed as perhaps the most practical he had ever known, Sean Kelso almost fell out of his chair.

"Earth is a _legend_, Dad," replied Sean flatly. "The whole story about the Thirteenth Tribe is a _myth_."

"Maybe so," shrugged Adrian softly. "Then again, maybe _not_."

"We already have far too many practical problems to deal with for me to start worrying about chasing a fable."

"I'm not saying you have to. But, you do need to be ready for the possibility. There are some who are going to see this as a sign; people who will see this as the exodus prophesized by Pythia. And those people _are_ the kind who believe in fate, faithfully, even fanatically. If challenged on those beliefs, they might fight back in order to hold onto that world view."

* * *

******Warstar _Galactica  
_****Combat Information Center  
**

"Jump complete," announced Lieutenant Cortez evenly.

"Very well, begin DRADIS sweep."

As he stood at the main plot table, his eyes focused in on the DRADIS screen overhead, Commander Sean Kelso couldn't help going over in his mind the conversation he had had with his father only a few short hours ago.

To say that it had given him something to think about would have been an understatement.

In truth, he was beginning to feel a headache coming on.

It was going to be hard enough to navigate the murky waters of investigating the wreckage itself already. To have the added responsibility of keeping in mind how potentially tens of thousands of rattled survivors might view anything they discovered through some sort of metaphysical or theological prism only made his job more difficult.

Piecing together wrecked junk to find out where it had been built and who built it was a problem very much in line with his training and personality.

Piecing together how that information might affect something so personal, fundamental and ultimately unpredictable as a person's faith in the gods themselves was an area in which he was woefully under prepared.

"Beginning system DRADIS sweep now, Commander," called Lieutenant Cortez. "We are detecting the radiation field and wreckage reported by the Raptor, sir."

"Major Burke, get on the horn with Major Culver verify that our CAP and the recovery Raptors are ready for launch," said Kelso evenly as he looked across to his XO.

"Aye, sir," replied Burke as she snatched up the handset on her side of the table and relayed the order.

Within minutes, four Vipers and over a dozen Raptors launched from _Galactica_'s flight decks. As the Vipers paired off and began their rather leisurely patrol pattern around _Galactica_, the Raptors began making their way towards the debris field. Their mission was simple, sift through what they saw and bring back as many samples as possible for analysis.

Simple in principle, but not so simple in practice.

As he stood there below the DRADIS, watching the operation unfold, Kelso couldn't help but think about the inherent dangers of their present course of action. Maneuvering Raptors around so much floating debris, avoiding collisions while also searching for anything the crews themselves deemed significant enough to drag back to _Galactica_ was dicey at best. But considering they'd been operating the last six months under strict fuel rationing measures, as Commander Kelso watched his people work, it was clear that even the best pilots had begun to lose a bit of their edge, their reflexes becoming dulled from having stayed idle too long.

"Copy, Raptor Six-Five-One, you are declaring an emergency, priority approach on flight deck one," called Lieutenant Cortez.

On the screen overhead, Commander Sean Kelso shook his head in frustration as he watched the crippled bird, its Port engine damaged by an impact from debris, limp her way onto the approach pattern.

"That's the third ship in under an hour, Commander," sighed Burke, leaning in towards Kelso across the plot table.

"Our pilots are out of practice," muttered Kelso evenly, grimacing slightly as the wounded Raptor slid to a landing.

Watching the remaining Raptors continue to poke around in the debris field, Kelso pensively drummed his fingers on plot table.

"All right, Major," he sighed. "Order our ships to remain at the periphery of the debris field. We lose one more, scrub the mission and recall all our birds."

"Very well, sir," sighed Burke, her tone somewhat relieved.

As he continued to watch DRADIS, all but waiting for the moment when another ship would be hit and declare an emergency, Kelso noted that at least the CAP hadn't encountered any problems. Considering how out of practice the Raptor crews seemed to be, Kelso found himself sincerely hoping nothing happened that would require the Vipers to intervene. Maneuvering about in a field of debris was risky enough, having rusty Viper pilots engage in combat was a recipe for disaster.

"Say again Viper Three-Five-One?" muttered the young Petty Officer over at Communications.

Glancing over, Kelso couldn't help but think about Harris, the young woman who'd died during their escape from Leto's Twins six months ago. With a slight twinge of shame, Kelso suddenly realized he didn't know the name of Harris's replacement. Six months she had been manning that post now and he hadn't even bothered to look at the duty roster.

Was it that he was afraid to learn the name of one more crewman who might die?

"What do you have, Rocca?" called Burke, unknowingly relieving Kelso of the embarrassment of admitting he didn't know the young woman's name.

"Viper Three-Five-One is reporting that they've picked up an unknown wireless signal," called Petty Officer Rocca. "I'm trying to see if I can pick it up right now, Major."

For a few moments, Burke, Kelso, and a few others seemed to be waiting for Rocca as she cycled through the wireless channels, apparently trying to pick up whatever it was that the Viper pilot had.

"I think I've found it, sir," she finally called.

As she sat listening through her headset, Rocca's young features furrowed with concentration.

"What have you got, Rocca?" asked Kelso pointedly.

"I'm not entirely sure, sir," replied Rocca as she continued to adjust a few controls on her panel. "Repeating signal, no voice, almost sounds like a distress beacon."

"Pipe it overhead," snapped Kelso as he perked up his ears.

Within moments, the overhead speakers burst to life with the signal. Sure enough, there was a simple repeating pulse coming through the speakers, a low tone that was repeating over and over.

"Can we isolate the location of this signal?" asked Kelso evenly as he continued to listen to the repeating tone.

"I've triangulated the signal to a small moon deeper inside the system, Commander," called Rocca.

"Lieutenant Cortez?"

"I've cross referenced the triangulation with the data from the Raptor," called Cortez. "Small moon orbiting the third planet of this system."

"Is it habitable?" shot back Major Burke.

"Not exactly a place I'd want to take a vacation, Major," replied Cortez as he accessed the data recorded by Banner and Kitridge. "Heavy volcanic activity has spewed enough sulfur and other gases to render large sections of the moon hazardous, but there are a few isolated areas that could be survivable."

"Definitely sound like some sort of beacon," muttered Kelso as he continued to listen to the tone being broadcast over the speakers. "Could be survivors from this ship."

"Or it could be whoever it was that destroyed it," countered Burke evenly.

"Granted," nodded Kelso as he picked up the handset on his side of the plot table. "In any event, we came here to gather information, I'm not about to simply ignore that signal; we've come this far, might as well take it a bit further."

Toggling the switch on his side of the plot table, Kelso lifted the handset to his ear as he signaled for Rocca to cut off the overhead speakers.

"_Captain Gaines_."

"Captain, I have a mission for you," began Kelso as he absently looked back up at the overhead DRADIS. "Assemble a Recon team, full combat gear, and have them ready to depart in an hour, I'll meet you on the Starboard hangar and brief you personally."

"_Aye, sir_."

Hanging up the handset, Kelso looked back over a Major Burke.

"Advise the CAG to get three more Raptors prepped and ready, two for transport, one for over-watch," began Kelso as he motioned Cortez over to the plot table. "Lieutenant, I want a hard copy printout on everything we know about that moon, the location of the signal, _everything_."

"Aye, sir."

"Do you really think there could be survivors down on the surface, Commander?" asked Burke evenly.

"Won't know till we take a closer look, Major," sighed Kelso. "How far in system is this moon?"

"A little over an hour at nominal cruise, Commander," replied Cortez.

Nodding his head slightly, Kelso looked back up at DRADIS.

"Go ahead and advise all units they have one hour to finish up their sweep of the debris field," began Kelso as he looked back over at Burke. "Once Gaines and her team are ready, recall all our birds. We'll jump _Galactica_ into near orbit for support."

"Not sublight, sir?" asked Burke, her brow furrowing a bit. "Are you expecting trouble?"

"Just hedging my bets, Major," shrugged Kelso as he returned his attention overhead. "The only thing we know right now is that someone or something blasted a ship to pieces with nuclear weapons. If they are anywhere near that moon, I don't want them to see us coming. Conversely, if they were to return here while were checking out the moon, I don't want our people hanging behind with their asses exposed. Until we know more, we go everywhere together and _in force_."

* * *

******Warstar _Galactica  
_****Starboard Hangar Deck  
**

Looking about, Commander Sean Kelso watched as the deck gang busily moved the returning Raptors over to several of the service bays. Off to one side, he could see several chunks of what he assumed was debris brought in by the Raptors and was tempted to step over and view them. But in his heart, Kelso knew that would have to wait.

The pieces salvaged by the Raptors from the debris field might still yield some important information, but there was something far more pressing waiting.

"Commander!" snapped a voice, barely echoing above the din of the machinery and whining engines.

Turning, Commander Sean Kelso saw his CAG, Major Thomas Culver, cutting a path around and past the busily moving deck gang.

"Do you have those ships I asked for ready, Major?" asked Kelso as Culver stepped up.

"Two Raptors are prepped and ready," began Culver slowly raising his hand as he saw Kelso begin to open his mouth. "And with your permission sir, based on the mission profile, I went ahead and substituted the third Raptor for that Scimitar, the one we retrieved…"

"Yes, of course, the one we found out near the testing range," nodded Kelso. "Is she flight worthy again?"

"Took a bit of work getting her avionics and electronics back into order," began Culver as he pointed over to the Scimitar, the robust craft itself sitting tucked away in a nearby service bay. "But she's flight ready, and we had some ordnance we were able to adapt for it so she won't be going in with racks empty."

Suddenly, overhead, a high pitch tone echoed out from the announcement speakers.

"Attention all hands, attention; pass the word to Commander Kelso; contact CIC."

Glancing over at Culver, the Major quickly ushered Kelso over to a handset mounted on the bulkhead of a service bay.

"Kelso," said the Commander simply as he held the handset to his ear.

"_Commander, Major Burke, all our birds are back aboard_."

"Very good, Major, go ahead and begin jump prep. Execute as soon as all stations report secure."

"_Aye, Commander_."

"Things really seem to be picking up in pace around here," sighed Culver as he glanced around at the deck gang moving the last couple Raptors into their service bays.

"That they are, Major," replied Kelso, smirking a bit as he hung the handset back up and looked around at the activity himself. "I guess the gods thought we were resting a little too much on our laurels, decided to throw some extra drama our way."

"The gods, sir?" muttered Culver, glancing back over at Kelso somewhat quizzically. "Forgive me for saying as much, Commander, but I hadn't figured you to be a man of the Scriptures."

"Metaphorically speaking, Major," amended Kelso as he continued to make his way through the hangar deck.

Just then, one of the hatches off to one side of the hangar deck opened, disgorging a neat line of heavily clad Marines out into the area, Captain Gaines squarely in the lead.

"Gaines!" snapped Culver.

As the Captain looked over in their direction, Culver motioned towards the two Raptors being prepared for launch nearby. Nodding, Gaines motioned for her team to make their way over to the two Raptors while she quickly stepped over to Culver and Commander Kelso.

"You're early," smiled Kelso as the heavily laden Gaines stepped up.

"Didn't want to risk missing the party, sir," she replied, pausing a moment to look at both Culver and Kelso. "Now, exactly what kind of party are we going to?"

"Search and rescue," replied Kelso, titling his head slightly. "We _think_."

"Sir?"

"Better to get this all out at once," sighed Kelso as he motioned for Gaines to follow him back over to her waiting Marines.

"Bring it in around the Commander," snapped Gaines as she and the Commander stepped into the service bay where the Marines were assembled.

"Okay, people, listen up," snapped Kelso as he looked out at the Marines. "Now no doubt you've caught wind of some pretty interesting rumors over the last couple of hours. Well, I'm here to tell you the truth might just be more interesting than the fiction, so I have to ask you to keep an open mind."

Noting the curious expressions on the faces of the Marines, Kelso stepped over to a small tool box and spread out a rudimentary map of the moon where they would be going. Motioning the Marines to close in tighter around him, Kelso looked up at Captain Gaines.

"Okay, here's what we know…"

* * *

******Marine Recon Team  
****Unknown Moon  
**

Glancing back over her shoulder, Captain Jordan Gaines watched as her team slowly spread out from the two Raptors. As they settled into a wide semi-circle, weapons at the ready, eyes scanning the area around them, Gaines motioned with her hands for the two Raptors to lift off again.

With a whine of their engines, the two craft slowly lifted back into the dark sky and rocketed away to begin loitering until Gaines called for an extraction.

As the whine of the Raptors faded into the distance, Gaines focused her attention back onto the surrounding area. The signal they'd come down to investigate had been triangulated somewhere in the middle of a wide desert plain. Rather than simply dropping down on top of the signal though, the mission plan instead had them to set down in a concealed position within a small canyon fissure running through the area. Night had already begun to fall on this part of the moon, casting eerie shadows amid the sparse vegetation and scattered boulders littering the area.

Although they had no idea who or what might be sending out the signal they were there to trace, from the short briefing Commander Kelso had given to them prior to their deployment, it wasn't hard for Gaines to understand that the imaginations of each member in her team must be running wild.

Hell, her own imagination was ablaze.

A dead human pilot plucked from deep space, an unknown spaceship blasted to rubble.

Gaines shook her head.

No, she needed to keep her attention focused on the here and now.

Boots were on the ground, rifles loaded and rounds chambered; the only thing that mattered right now was what was within firing range.

Snapping her fingers to get their attention, Gaines motioned for her people to form up around her.

"Weapons outboard," whispered Corporal Dwayne Bowman as he and his rifle team settled in around the Captain. "Eyes sharp people."

Looking around, Gaines took a quick head count; twelve Marines total, plus herself made thirteen.

With the concrete possibility of facing at best something unknown, or at worst a Cylon trap, Gaines' recon team had come down from _Galactica_ armed to the teeth. Heavy rifles, a couple MGL's, three missile launchers, frag grenades, and even a few of the nastiest fighting knives Gaines had ever seen.

But somehow it didn't make Gaines feel any better.

Somewhere close by was one of two possible possibilities; human survivors from a destroyed ship, or whatever it was that had apparently blasted that entire spaceship to dust.

"Okay, people, listen up," began Gaines as she looked out at the surrounding area. "It's dark, it reeks of sulfur, and we have no firm idea what we might run into down here. But, that's why the Commander sent us in instead of the flyboys."

Around the circle, a couple of the Marines muttered approvingly at that; when all else failed, stoke the bravado…

"Triangulation says we're ten clicks from the source of the wireless signal," continued Gaines as she slapped a magazine into her rifle. "Now, we have two Raptors loitering off to our West for emergency dust-off and evac; wireless call sign is Deacon. Secondary signal for extraction is a green star cluster."

Glancing around, Gaines was pleased to see that everyone in her team had broken out a notepad and was quickly scribbling down the information she was giving. A couple months sitting idle aboard _Galactica_ may have dulled their edge a bit, but the training, no doubt reinforced by their experiences in Serenity Valley, had ingrained that most fundamental of battlefield truths in them; in a pinch, even a Private needed to be ready to act like a General.

"We have one Scimitar gunship of station for CAS, wireless call-sign is Sierra One-Zero-Five."

Taking a deep breath, Gaines grimaced a bit at the sulfuric stench as she kept looking around at the ever-more stifling darkness.

"Now, we're running heavy with enough firepower spread-load between us to practically crack this moon in half, but, this is about recon, not kill ratios," continued Gaines. "If we can pull this off without being seen by whoever or whatever is creeping around on this rock, all the better, so that means noise and especially light discipline. Red lens lights only, and use them only with my approval. Team leaders, each of you has a squad wireless; birds overhead will be monitoring our progress on channel one-five."

"Now, I know we've been pounding the decks for six months but now it's time to get our boots dirty again. Shake off the garrison mentality and keep your heads in the game. We'll move out single column, five meter dispersion between each Marine. Corporal Bowman, since you have the locator, your team is on point."

"Aye, Captain."

"Okay people, we move in five mikes, between now and then, give each other a final check on your gear, make sure everything is secure; no time on this mission to go back if you drop your lucky lighter in the dark."

With that, each of the Marines in her recon force began checking each other over one last time, ensuring each strap, each button snap, each pouch was secure.

As Corporal Bowman finished checking her gear over, Gaines looked up and watched as the distant light of the setting sun continued to fade beyond the horizon.

As she did so, Gaines felt a lingering foreboding begin to lick the edges of her consciousness.

The terrain was decidedly uninviting with several active volcanoes dotting the far away mountains on the horizon. Moreover, the sparse vegetation and barren, inhospitable desert was far removed from the lush forest of the last world upon which she'd set foot. And yet, as she watched the fading glow beyond those fiery pyres on the horizon, the stars overhead beginning to twinkle in the curtain of impending night, Gaines was seized by the memory of that last terrible time she and her Marines had watched a sunset.

On a dying world untold light-years away, in a valley and a township called Serenity…

Night had brought no sanctuary, no respite there, only death. And try as she might not to, so many months later, Captain Jordan Gaines could still hear the last terrible screams of those that had never lived to see the sun rise again.

Wrestling herself back away from the horrendous memory, Gaines glanced over as her Marines began spreading into a long line.

"All right people, line of departure, lock and load," she snapped, yanking angrily on the action of her rifle, cycling the first round into the chamber.

As each member of the team likewise chambered their first round, Gaines made a quick motion with her hand, signaling for her Marines to move out.

As the line of Marines began taking their first tentative steps into the night, quickly making their way out of the ravine onto the wide desert plain, Corporal Bowman kept a keen eye on the direction finder cradled in his hands, the device locked in on the frequency of the wireless beacon that had prompted their mission down to this hellish ball of rock.

As they made their way across what to Gaines' mind was the most desolate, uninviting terrain she had ever known, she did have to concede at least one good thing; in terrain as barren and featureless as this, her team would be able to make very good time.

And indeed, they did.

Nevertheless, as her team continued to move about in the stifling darkness, Gaines still felt uneasy.

And in very short order, the Fate seemed to offer up a very good reason for her to feel that way.

After covering nearly three kilometers across the plain, Gaines was surprised when the call came down along the line to come to a halt. Waiting, Gaines watched as her team instinctively spread out, turning their weapons outboard as they dropped to a knee.

For a few moments, no word came as to exactly why they'd come to a halt. Had the point man come across some terrain obstacle? Had the direction finder Bowman had with him lost its lock on the signal?

The longer they sat there, the more concerned Gaines started to feel.

"_Junkyard-Six, this is Lead; you'd better get up here_."

It was Bowman's voice that had filtered in over the squad frequency.

Her rifle ready, eyes scanning not only the horizon, but also the few feet in front of her, Gaines made her way forward along the formation.

"Okay, Corporal what…" began Gaines as she stepped up.

But as she reached the point, Captain Gaines stopped. To one side, the lead man in the formation, a Private who'd been part of _Galactica_'s original Marine security detail, not one of her relative 'veterans' from Serenity Valley, was slumped over near a boulder retching his guts out.

Bowman stood silent, his arms hanging at his sides.

Gaines' weariness only deepened.

"Corporal Bowman?" she muttered again, her eyes on the heaving shoulders of the vomiting Marine. "What's the hold-up?"

"I think you'd better see for yourself, Captain," replied Bowman evenly, making a slight motion with his head towards something along their path.

Moving up next to him, Gaines looked down on the ground, following Bowman's gesture towards a heap lying amid the rocks. Although at first she couldn't distinguish anything more than a cluster medium sized boulders littering the area, Gaines soon caught a scent being carried on the low breeze.

Decaying flesh, the sickening metallic scent of blood, human blood…

For a moment, she almost felt as though she were going to throw up herself.

"Please tell me that's not what I think it is," she whispered softly as her eyes focused in a little more from the fresh adrenaline coursing into her bloodstream.

"Afraid I can't do that, Captain," muttered Bowman gently as he handed her his flashlight.

Taking hold of the flashlight, Gaines glanced around at the horizon, looked back at the objects, turned on the light, then cast the beam of red light towards it, and indeed almost retched at what she saw...

Her hand shaking slightly as she fought back against the gagging she felt, Gaines saw a body lying on the ground.

She had seen bodies before, some riddled with bullet holes, others torn apart in explosions, but nothing as brutal or horrid as this…

Methodically, viciously, the body had been butchered, decapitated, limbs severed, the torso splayed open.

No, even worse…

There wasn't just one body.

The beam of light shaking from her quaking hand, Gaines saw that there were at least a dozen bodies lying about, all mutilated with equal viciousness, little more than horrid, shredded pieces littering the desert ground.

"What the frak?" she muttered in disgust.

Cautiously, Bowman stepped forward.

Gaines almost called for him to stop, but she found she was fighting her instinctual reflex to gag too much to fully form the words.

Kneeling down beside one of the bodies, Bowman picked up a couple objects and then made his way back over to Gaines.

"What have you got?" she muttered, her forehead covered in sweat that had nothing to do with the moon's sweltering heat.

"Looks like some sort of weapon," muttered Bowman as he held up one of the objects.

"Anything else?" said Gaines between steadying breaths.

"Some fabric with a patch on it, maybe a unit emblem of some sort," replied Bowman as he held the other object up in the light.

Looking down, Gaines saw a piece of torn fabric with a rectangular patch affixed to it; white in overall color, with three blue stars and a blue circle, and liberally stained with blood.

Reaching over, Gaines took hold of both the weapon and the fabric, and curiously, felt the stirring hint of kinship form within her.

These people, whoever they had been, had been humans; moreover, they'd been soldiers.

"This looks like a fighting position," said Bowman as he looked back over at the bodies. "They must have died in the defense."

Looking back over at the macabre scene, Gaines couldn't argue with Bowman's assessment.

"Must have been at close quarters; they had bayonets fixed," muttered Gaines as she held up the large blade attached to the end of the weapon. "Any sign of who it was they were fighting?"

"Nothing concrete, Captain," sighed Bowman. "A few tracks, maybe, but if they took any out, the bodies must have been removed by whoever…"

"By whoever butchered _them_," finished Gaines angrily as she clenched her fist around the torn shred of fabric with the patch.

Glancing back over her shoulder, Gaines saw that the Private who'd been throwing up off to the side had more-or-less composed himself.

"What are we going to do, Captain?" asked the Marine weakly as he stepped up.

Taking a deep breath, Gaines gently tested the weight of the unfamiliar weapon in her hands, then slung it over her shoulder.

"We still have a mission to complete," she sighed.

"What about the bodies, Captain?" asked Bowman as he motioned his head over at them. "Shouldn't we at least burry them?"

"Trust me, Corporal, I understand what you're trying to say," replied Gaines as she unclenched her fist and looked down at the patch once more. "But we're still on the bottom end of the learning curve here; those bodies could be booby-trapped, or they could be under surveillance by whoever slaughtered them. In any event, I'm not keen on staying here when we have no idea who or what did this. Do you still have a lock on the signal?"

Nodding slightly, Bowman held up the direction finder.

"Still coming in loud and clear, Captain," said Bowman evenly.

"With all due respect, Captain, we can't just leave them like this," sighed the Marine Private as he stood looking over at the shredded bodies.

"We don't have a choice, Private," replied Gaines evenly as she gently took hold of the Marine's shoulder. "At this point, the less evidence we leave of our having been here, the better, at least until we have a better idea of exactly what is happening here."

Giving the young Marine's shoulder one last pat, she gently nudged him forward towards Bowman.

"Let's move it out, Corporal Bowman," she said evenly.

With a nod, Bowman lifted his rifle up and stepped off again across the wide plain.

Staying in place, Gaines watched as her Marines slowly filed by. A few paused to look at the scene of carnage. With a look of understanding, Gaines nevertheless nudged for each to continue on their way. When the last of her team finally filed by, Gaines took one last look at the mangled bodies lying in the dust, their life-blood having long since been absorbed into the dust of this forsaken moon.

Unslinging the unfamiliar weapon that Bowman had picked up and given to her, Gaines once again tested it in her hands.

The weight, the feel…

Stepping over to the bodies, Gaines took the weapon and jammed the end with the bayonet firmly into the ground.

Stepping back, Gaines bowed her head and whispered a prayer she had learned as a child, one of the few times she had done such in her adult life.

Her prayer done, Gaines looked at the fabric and emblem she still held in her hand.

Taking a deep breath, she put the fabric into the cargo pocket on her thigh then jogged off after her team.

Quickly catching up, she resumed her place in the formation as they continued off across the barren plain.

As they continued to move forward, Gaines noticed that the main planet the moon orbited around had begun to rise over the horizon.

Ironic; the planet the moon orbited around had now begun to reflect light from the star down onto its own moon, for some reason the reversal of roles struck Gaines as odd somehow.

Gaines shook her head.

She hated thinking about any irony that seemed to border on paradox, it tended to give her a headache if she dwelled on it too long.

Nevertheless, the low light cast by the planet added some shadows and details to the barren landscape ahead.

As the team reached the approximate mid-way point, five kilometers, Gaines motioned for the team to halt.

"Five minutes, people," she said as she made her way forward along the formation. "Hydrate and check your gear."

A few nodded in response as they dropped to a knee. They may have been taking a rest, but each Marine nevertheless kept a keen eye on the dimly lit landscape, and with good reason. None of them said as much, but she knew each much have still been thinking about the grisly scene only a couple kilometers back.

She certainly was thinking about it.

"Halfway there, Captain," said Bowman as he finished taking a deep drink from his canteen.

Looking out across the plain, Gaines gently nodded her head.

"Signal still coming in strong?"

"Not a waver, Captain," replied Bowman as he slipped his canteen back into its carrier.

Looking off in the direction her team had been heading, Gaines felt a lump begin to form in her throat. With the rising planet now casting a measure of light out across the area, she could see that while the majority of the plain, stretching from one volcanic range to another, was little more than a flat dust bowl, there was at least one major terrain feature.

A small rise, likely thrust up through the crust by the seismic activity, sat within the vast stretch.

"Let me guess," muttered Gaines as she motioned her head towards the hill.

Lifting up the locator, Bowman looked at the display, then nodded.

"Affirmative, Captain," he sighed, looking out at the hill himself. "Whoever, _whatever_, is sending out that signal, it's coming from that hill."

As she stood looking at the hill, Gaines took several deep breaths, coughing a bit from the sulfur wafting in from the distant volcanoes.

"This moon sucks," she muttered, still coughing a bit.

"Can't argue with you on that, Captain," replied Bowman evenly. "But like you said; we've got a mission."

"Anything to get off the 'Big-G' for a while, eh?" smiled Gaines as she cast a sidewise glance over at Bowman.

"Nasty or not, got to admit, feels good to have real dirt under the boots," said Bowman as she kicked at a stone. "But all things being equal, it still doesn't compare to the beaches of Cap-City."

"I just can't help but wonder if those soldiers we stumbled across back there had the same thought," countered Gaines somewhat glumly.

Nodding a bit, Bowman returned his attention to the hill.

"Here, see what you can see with these," muttered Gaines as she pulled a pair of night vision from her gear and handed them to Bowman.

Holding them for a moment, Bowman looked over at Gaines somewhat dubiously.

"Don't worry, these ones have fresh batteries," said Gaines, noting the look on Bowman's face as she pulled out her own canteen.

Turning them on, Bowman lifted the night vision to his eyes. In the garish green hues of the night vision, there was a significant amount of detail now in view.

Looking over at the hill, Bowman didn't really expect to see anything, not at their current distance at least; these night vision goggles didn't have any real magnification to them.

But as he stood there, Bowman thought he saw some movement in the shadows on the peak of the hill. But before he could say anything, Bowman heard the wireless headset crackle to life.

"_Junkyard-Six, Junkyard-Six, this is Deacon._"

It was one of the Raptors that had dropped them off.

"This is Six, go ahead Deacon," replied Gaines as she toggled the switch for her wireless set.

"_Be advised, we are loitering twenty-seven clicks from dust-off point to your Southwest. We're currently tracking four unknowns on DRADIS, coming in low from your due South at this time._"

"Have they spotted you?"

"_Doesn't look like it; we're hanging low in the terrain so they might not have a fix on us, but they _are_ coming _your_ direction_."

"Bowman!" snapped Gaines as she quickly set her eyes towards the direction indicated by the Raptors.

Shifting his own attention and the night vision goggles to the South, Bowman began scanning the horizon.

Shaking his head slightly, Bowman toggled his own wireless.

"Deacon, can you give us a range on the contacts?"

"_Approximately twenty-five kilometers, closing in fast_."

"There, low on the horizon at eleven o'clock," snapped Gaines as she caught sight of four small lights moving through the sky.

Shifting his gaze to the area indicated by Gaines, Bowman caught sight of the four craft.

"Hard to tell for sure at this range, Captain," began Bowman as he handed the night vision over to Gaines. "But I don't think those are ours."

"No, they're much too big," noted Gaines as she looked at them through the night vision herself. "Don't look Cylon, either."

"Well, that's a relief," muttered Bowman sardonically.

"They _are_ coming this way, though," continued Gaines as she dropped the night vision back away from her eyes.

"Thoughts, Captain?" asked Bowman simply. "Shall we go into a hasty defense?"

Her eyes not leaving the four objects skimming in towards her team, Gaines nodded her head.

"Pull it in!" snapped Bowman as he bounded off a bit back towards the rest of the recon team. "Get online here!"

As Gaines listened to her people rushing to form a small defensive line, her mind flashed with the image of the slaughtered bodies. Did the closing aircraft have any connection to whoever had killed those soldiers? If so, why so had they been butchered so brutally?

But perhaps most important of all, did they know her team was here? What would they do if they did?

Somehow she doubted they'd simply stop in to say 'hi'.

"Corporal Bowman?"

"Captain?"

"How many missiles did we bring with us?"

"Three, Captain."

"Prep one," snapped Gaines as she watched the lights continue to close in. "Just in case."

"Aye, Captain."

"_Junkyard-Six…is…con_," crackled the wireless.

Pressing the headset closer to her ear, Gaines tried to hear what it was the Raptors were saying, but the channel soon became obscured in static.

"Say again, Deacon, you are broken and unreadable," said Gaines.

Static…

"Deacon, this is Junkyard-Six, say again your last transmission," said Gaines, glancing over at Bowman.

Again, nothing but static.

Nodding her head to Bowman, she listened as he attempted to contact Deacon, but he had no more success.

"Frak, we've lost wireless!" snapped Gaines as she quickly jogged over to where her team had set up their line. "Missile?"

"Forty-five seconds, Captain," snapped the Marine who was hefting the launch tube up onto her shoulder.

"Shave that," said Gaines as she dropped down to one knee and looked back over at the three closing craft.

"Not me, Captain," replied the gunner, shaking her head slightly. "Takes that long for the batteries to cool the heat tracker."

Taking a deep breath, Gaines reflexively pulled the bolt of her rifle back, ensured a round was in the chamber, then looked back over at the four craft.

By now, they'd closed in enough that there was a low hum filling the air, presumably from the craft themselves.

As she watched them close, heard the hum grow even louder, Gaines flexed her fingers around the grips of her weapon.

"Bowman?"

"Sahn?" snapped Bowman as he stepped up to the two-man missile team.

"Thirty seconds," replied the gunner as she settled her eye in behind the aiming reticule.

"Clear back blast!" snapped the a-gunner as he looked around to ensure no other Marines had settled in to the rear of the missile tube.

As the Marine recon team sat poised, all their eyes locked on the four closing objects in the sky, Gaines continued to flex her fingers impatiently around the rifle grips.

"System active," called Lance Corporal Sahn.

"Sight in on the center craft, the large one," said Bowman as he sidled up next to her on the opposite side from the a-gunner.

"Target acquired," said Sahn a moment later.

"Back blast area, all clear," called the a-gunner as he gave Sahn's shoulder a quick slap.

"Hold till I give the order to fire!" burst Gaines as she slowly brought her rifle up.

Watching, poised, the entire line of Marines watched as the four craft came racing in, straight towards _them_.

"Captain?" called Sahn urgently.

"Hold that missile," replied Gaines, her teeth clenched tight as she watched the craft continue to close.

Lifting the night vision back to her eyes, Gaines swallowed hard.

Four craft, three smaller ones and one large, all much larger than a Viper or a Raptor, no visible cockpit, no visible weapons either. The three smaller ships all had the same three-wing configuration, each wing equilateral to one another, the larger ship tucked in formation behind them, its main forward section vaguely wedge shaped.

And they were getting damned close.

Dropping the night vision back away from her eyes, Gaines brought her weapon to her shoulder and aimed in. What damage rifle fire might do to the four craft was unclear, but reflexively, it felt better than simply sitting there helpless in the dirt.

"Hold," hissed Gaines as the craft streaked in, the hum of what she presumed were their engines almost drowning out her voice.

In her mind, Gaines had just one thought; it's now or never, the craft either knew they were there or they didn't…

If they did, they were more than close enough to begin strafing their position, the next few seconds…

"Captain?" prodded Sahn adamantly.

But even before Gaines could answer, the four craft shot by overhead, the dust kicked up by their low level flight washing in over Gaines and her people.

Even as her sight was partially obscured by the dust, Gaines looked back, peering through the dust cloud at the craft as they continued to race away.

With the hum in the air fading and the dust settling back down, Gaines was able to catch a glimpse of the craft as they continued to fly away, straight towards…

"Bowman?" snapped Gaines.

"Uh-huh," nodded Bowman as he too watched the retreating craft. "Right towards the source of the signal, Captain."

"SAR team maybe?" offered Gaines.

But even before Bowman could take a breath to answer, the night sky lit up.

The dust now mostly settled, Captain Jordan Gaines and her Marines watched as the three smaller craft began a strafing run around the hill they themselves had been heading towards. Unleashing a withering barrage, the three smaller craft raced in tight circles around the hill, pounding the slopes with punishing weapons fire as the larger ship slowly settled onto the desert floor near the hill's base.

Popping up to her feet, Gaines watched the continued bombardment, her already racing heart skipping a few beats as she took a few shocked steps forward.

"What the frak is going on here, Captain?" muttered one of her Marines; she wasn't sure which one offhand.

"I have no idea," she muttered.

Taking a deep breath, Gaines' eyes went wide, her heart pounding in her chest as the three strafing craft unleashed yet another punishing barrage around the hill.

"But we're not leaving till we find out," she finally said.

Turning back to her team, Gaines motioned for them to get back to their feet.

"Secure that missile," began Gaines as she watched her people start moving back into formation. "We'll move in as close as we can, try and get a handle on what this whole fraked up business is about."

Within moments, the missile team had unlocked the targeting scope from the launch tube. Stowing both back away on their packs they quickly joined the others in the formation.

"Ready to move, Captain," snapped Bowman as he jogged up along the line back to the point.

A bright flash of light pierced the night sky, followed moments later by the loud crack of an explosion.

"Let's move it people," snapped Gaines as she motioned the line of Marines forward.

Forward across the plain, towards the sounds of battle; forward into the unknown.


End file.
